


Milestones

by intrepidheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Almost) First Time, A LOT of Sam being shoved into walls, Alcohol, Angst, Bottom Sam, Cuddling, Drug Use, First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hair Pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Jealous Dean, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Pining, Possessive Dean, Queer Sam, Shotgunning, Spooning, Swearing, Teen Angst, Top Dean, Underage Smoking, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 38,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intrepidheart/pseuds/intrepidheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mile·stone /mīl stōn/ (noun): an action or event marking a significant change or stage in development.</p><p>Or more specifically, six milestones that would change the relationship between Sam and Dean for the rest of their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Twelve

Sam was twelve when he first realized the feelings he had for his brother weren't normal.

They were both tucked into the backseat as the Impala rumbled its way down an empty, snaking highway with John at the wheel, dragging the boys further and further away from their latest temporary home.

It was late, or early depending on how one views a drive at three in the morning. John had just returned from hunting a pair of wendigos that had set up camp in a cave system just outside of Glasgow, Kentucky that were preying on visitors for the past week. He'd come back in a flurry, throwing what few belongings the Winchesters had into the trunk before ushering the boys out of bed and into the back of the car. Tossing a blanket over their sleep-laden bodies, he told them gruffly to go back to bed before tearing out of the motel parking lot.

Sam and Dean were both stretched out on their sides with Sam curled into Dean’s chest, the blanket John had thrown over them barely long enough to cover their tangled feet. Sam was still half-drunk in his sleepiness, tucking his face into his brother’s chest to feel the worn cotton of Dean’s shirt brush against his cheek.

Dean was wide awake. Sam could tell by the tense alertness of Dean’s body along the length of his own and the way that Dean’s foot was wiggling to the beat of Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” that John had playing at a moderate volume. Sam was used to dozing in the back with classic rock blaring at full blast, so this level of music was soothing to him. By the way that Dean was shifting minutely, Sam knew that he was itching to ask John about the hunt: if it had been hard to take on two wendigos at once, where they were going now. Sam also knew, just as well as Dean, that they wouldn't get any details until tomorrow after John had found a place to rest and slept a day away.

Dean’s restlessness transferred to his hands, which smoothed over Sam’s back to reach the line of his spine where they started drumming along with the song floating from the car’s speakers. They felt nice, comforting, warm. Sam nuzzled up and into Dean’s neck, his hands that were trapped between their bodies fisting in Dean’s shirt. He could feel the vibration of Dean humming along with the music against his nose, the bridge of it pressed tightly into the line of Dean’s throat.

It was when Dean shifted down on the seat, and thus more tightly along the front of Sam’s body, that Sam’s stomach flew up to his throat. With his head laying on his brother’s bicep and Dean’s arm curled around his back, Dean was able to use both hands to strum Sam’s spine as if he were creating the cresting, sharp notes of the guitar. Electricity from Dean’s fingertips zipped through his shirt and into his skin, making Sam’s breath catch in his throat as his eyes started to close at the pleasurable feeling.

Dean was singing the song softly now, his breath ruffling the hair on top of Sam’s head. Sam let out a small smile at his brother’s love for the band that John played practically non-stop, especially at times like this when they all should be asleep like a normal family.

The guitar crested even more intensely now and Dean’s fingers danced up and down Sam’s back as if the knobs of his spine were frets to be played. Sam couldn’t help the small gasp that left his mouth. The sensation was ticklish yet strong enough to make him arch back into Dean’s fingers, searching for more of his touch.

Dean shifted again, as if he hadn’t even realized what he had been doing and was just coming out of his rockstar daydream and back into reality. As if he could read Sam’s mind, which Sam would swear up and down that he could, Dean’s palm opened and smoothed down the line of Sam’s back from his neck to the dip just above Sam’s tailbone. Sam’s mouth opened against Dean’s neck as he struggled to draw oxygen into his lungs in hopes of calming his racing heart. He could feel Dean’s pulse beneath his lips, thrumming almost in time to the fast strums of the guitar riff in the song.

To this day Sam is not quite sure what made him do it. For whatever reason, it just felt like the thing to do at that particular moment in time. Being entirely overwhelmed with _DeanDeanDean_ and his hands on Sam’s back and his scent in Sam’s nose and his chest beneath Sam’s fingers, Sam pressed his mouth a little more open and a little bit harder along the steady pulse under the skin of Dean’s throat. Before he lost whatever ounce of courage that was pumping through his veins and heating his entire body up from his core, Sam’s tongue slipped from between his lips and dragged up the pulsing vein of his brother’s neck.

He both heard and felt Dean make a low noise at the back of his throat, the pressure of Dean’s hand on Sam’s spine flying up to grip the back of Sam’s head. Terrified, Sam pulled his tongue back into his mouth and mashed his lips together into a thin line. His heart was pounding. Why did he just do that, why, why, why, why? He didn't want to scare Dean off or have Dean shove him off the seat to sleep on the floor of the Impala because he was grossed out by his sick little brother.

But neither of those things happened; instead, Dean’s hand loosened on his head just enough to trail up and ruffle the long hair that had started to flop into Sam’s eyes.

“Go back to sleep, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice rough enough to make goosebumps rise on Sam’s arms despite the warmth of their combined body heat that was trapped under the blanket. Saying nothing, Sam squeezed his eyes shut and moved his head down to tuck between Dean’s chest and shoulder. His heart was in his throat, his entire body tense as he waited for Dean to out him to John. He jerked in surprise when Dean’s hand moved down to rub small, calming circles in the center of Sam’s back. After a few moments, Dean started humming along to “In the Light”. Sam hadn’t even noticed that the song had changed.

Slowly, Sam did drift off to sleep. The sway of the Impala, the steady beat of Dean’s heart against Sam’s cheek, and the reassuring pressure of Dean’s hand on his back were the perfect lullaby.

Sam would never admit that the next morning when he woke up, there was only one thing he remembered dreaming about and it was the way Dean’s skin had felt under Sam’s lips.


	2. Fourteen

Sam was fourteen when he kissed his brother for the first time.

It’s not like he had planned for it to happen that way. He didn’t even initiate it. He was just sulking in the couch cushions that had long since lost their firmness and practically swallowed his teenage body into the plush material. The front door of their small home creaked open as Dean strode in, shaking his head like a dog to free the rainwater that had collected in his hair on his walk home. He had a part-time job at the bar a few miles down the road to help cover some of the expenses that John's measly pile of money that he had left behind before he went on a two week-long hunt with Bobby couldn't.

“Heya, Sammy!” Dean said brightly despite the gloomy weather outside that equally matched Sam’s mood.

Sam muttered something under his breath, eyes fixed on the shitty television in front of him. The picture was screwed up, the greens too green and the reds too red with a jagged gash of blue sneaking up the bottom right corner of the screen. But at least the sound worked.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you over all that teenage angst.” Dean passed in front of Sam and kicked one of Sam’s feet on his way to the kitchen. Too late, Sam kicked back at his brother but his foot touched nothing but air before thunking down onto the ratty carpet.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam said because that’s just how it worked between them.

“You eat dinner yet, kid?” Dean called over his shoulder. Sam heard the hiss of a beer bottle opening and rolled his eyes.

“This may come as a shock to you but I know how to take care of myself when you aren’t around. I’m not a baby.” Sam pulled angrily at a loose thread in the arm of the couch. The fabric unravelled easily under his touch.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Dean asked with a quirked eyebrow as he took a seat next to Sam, sinking down into the deflated cushions with a beer bottle in hand.

Sam started picking more vigorously at the thread, not meeting Dean’s stare. He could feel the path that Dean’s green eyes were tracking over his body, from Sam’s face to his slumped shoulders to his socked foot scuffing the carpet.

“C’mon, Sammy, what’s up?” Dean’s tone was softer now; not soft enough to be mistaken as sappy and girly, but more of a gentle awareness that something was really bugging his brother.

After a pause, Sam mumbled something completely unintelligible, his eyes fixed back on the whacked out television screen.

“What?” Dean leaned towards Sam a bit, his head tilting to catch the words.

“ _You would just make fun of me_ ,” Sam repeated louder, a rosy blush creeping up his neck and cheeks.

Dean looked up thoughtfully for a moment.

“Yeah, I probably would,” he finally shrugged, a smirk peeking out from behind the lip of the bottle he was bringing to his mouth.

Quick as a whip, Sam lifted his arm up and chucked his finger at the bottom of Dean’s mostly full bottle. This caused beer to spurt from the mouth and onto Dean's chin, the glass clacking against his teeth which were exposed from him opening his mouth to take the drink. Everything kind of froze as Dean stared at the wall straight ahead of him, the beer slipping down the line of his jaw to drip onto his shirt.

Sam’s mouth was hanging open in shock. He had meant to screw with Dean, sure, but he hadn’t meant for arousal to be singing in every cell of his body as he replayed the image of liquid shooting onto Dean’s open mouth and sliding down his chin.

Breaking the heavy pause that hung in the air, Sam shot off the couch and scrambled to make it to the boys’ shared bedroom to lock himself into safety from Dean’s inevitably ruthless rebuttal.

A growl rumbled from behind Sam as Dean tore after his younger brother, catching the door Sam was forcing shut right before it slammed in his face. For one scary moment, Sam saw Dean’s seriously-pissed-off face in the slice of space between the door he was straining to close and the door frame before Dean really threw his shoulder into it. The force of the door being opened knocked Sam backwards, arms wheeling. Dean took advantage of Sam’s compromised equilibrium and lurched forward, hooking his foot behind Sam’s ankle and twisting Sam’s arms behind his back as the two of them landed in a heap by the foot of the nearest bed.

Flustered and blushing, Sam writhed, trying to slip away from Dean’s hold but his stupid brother thought that sitting on Sam’s abdomen was a great idea. With a grunt, Sam canted his stomach and hips upwards to free his arms from behind his back, using his calf to anchor down Dean’s leg as Sam leveraged himself up and over to switch their positions, slamming Dean onto his back by shoving his hands down on Dean’s shoulders.

“You’re a feisty little fuck today, ain’tcha?” Dean coughed out a laugh, a stupid, fat grin spreading across his face as he tilted his head at Sam. Sam’s cheeks burned as the moonlight that was weakly lighting their room caught Dean’s raised jaw, the wetness of the beer staining his chin with a dull shine. Sam flew off of his brother, backing away to face the sad excuse they had for a closet.

“Why do you always have to be such a dick?” Sam winced as his voice cracked mid-sentence, clearing his throat as he picked at the peeling wallpaper next to the closet door. He needed to keep his hands busy so they would stop trying to reach back down and settle into the dip between Dean’s shoulders and his chest.

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” Sam heard Dean stand up and felt the waves of heat rolling off of his body as he moved to stand behind Sam. “I already asked you what happened, so why don’t you spit it out already so I can try to help?”

Sam turned around, his head automatically tilting up to meet Dean’s eyes. Sam was still shorter than Dean by a good amount, but at least he was starting to grow and didn’t have to crane his neck as much anymore whenever he wanted to look at Dean.

“I just-“ Sam looked down, scuffed his sock on the floor, worried the edge of his lip. “I don’t even know if you can help.”

“You never know, Sammy,” Dean cuffed him on the back of his head, making Sam rub at the spot and glare up at Dean’s smirking face. “So spill it before I noogie it outta you.”

Sam meant to calmly say something along the lines of: “You remember that girl Janie who you saw me walking to the library last week? She asked me to hang out in her basement tomorrow to watch a movie but you always say that watching movies really means they want to make out and I’m shitting my pants because I haven't exactly had my first kiss” but what actually came out of his mouth sounded something like _JanieaskedmeoutandIthinkshe’sgonnatrytomakeoutwithmeandIdon’tknowhowtokiss_.

Sam’s eyes were locked onto Dean’s face, watching as Dean paused to try to decipher the absolutely jumbled mess that had just poured from Sam’s mouth before seeing the wheels start to turn in his mind.

“So you got a hot date, huh?” Dean smiled wider, digging his hand into Sam’s floppy hair to ruffle it proudly. “And you wanna blow her mind, am I right?”

“I just don’t want to fuck up,” Sam muttered as his face burned bright red.

“Don’t say ‘fuck’,” Dean said, flicking Sam’s ear.

“You just said ‘fuck’!” Sam complained, cupping his hand over his smarting appendage.

“I’m allowed to say ‘fuck’. I’m eighteen.”

“Oh, fuck off, Dean,” Sam threw his hands up in the air in frustration, turning on his heel to begin to stomp his way out of the room. “I knew you were gonna be a jerk about this, I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”

“Hey!” Dean barked from behind him and suddenly a hand was spinning Sam around by his shoulder and slamming him into the wall hard enough that Sam’s head clunked off it. Dean was close, too close, crowding into Sam’s very personal space as he bracketed his arms on either side of Sam’s head. All Sam could do was look up, eyes as wide and shining as he watched moonlight catch on Dean’s rain-soaked hair.

“You wanna learn?” The question left Dean’s mouth in a tone that Sam had only ever heard Dean use on girls he wanted to bring home when he managed to get into bars with his fake. Sam’s eyes shot to Dean’s, searching the dilated pupils for a sign that his brother was pulling his leg.

“Learn?” Sam squeaked because his entire chest was seizing up and he really couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean’s eyes moved downwards and holy _shit_ there is no way that he was staring at Sam’s mouth right now. “Learn.”

Who knew such an innocent word could set somebody aflame? Sam’s entire body was burning, swallowing up every ounce of oxygen that ran in his veins and lived in his lungs so all he could manage was an over-eager nod as he mentally willed his knees to stop trembling.

“You’re not gonna be a pussy about this?” Dean clarified as he pulled his head away with skeptical eyebrows, a stark contrast to his body which shifted closer to Sam. “Get all weird and shit over me doin’ you a favor?”

“Does it look like I’m pussying out?” Sam found enough air to force out the snarky challenge, to which Dean’s eyes narrowed down at him. Sam’s gaze flickered to Dean’s throat where he watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

“Just do what I say and you'll be fine," Dean said, before pausing to add, "Actually, you'll be more than fine. You'll be a pro."

Sam wanted to roll his eyes or say something witty, but his heart had found a new home in his throat and it was taking everything he had in him to just press himself flat against the wall, palms against the peeling wallpaper, and not do anything stupid. 

Dean was quiet for a moment, like he was steeling himself to cross the blaring red line between the two of them that led into a completely different territory despite the warning of wailing sirens and large red signs that read STOP! TABOO! DO NOT CROSS! Dean crossed it anyway, ducking his head down to press his forehead against Sam's as his breath ghosted across Sam's face. 

"We'll go step-by-step. Okay?" Dean's voice was thick and heavy rolling off his tongue. Sam wanted to taste it.

"'Kay," Sam exhaled, his entire body buzzing like a live wire. 

"Step one is close your eyes."

A cold shiver dragged its finger down the length of Sam's spine.

"How 'm I gonna know what to do, then?" Sam mumbled out, though his eyes obeyed and started to flutter shut.

"What, you plan to kiss her with your eyes, Sammy?" Dean pulled back and Sam opened them again to glare at his brother. "Just trust me."

Sam trusted Dean with every cell he had in his body and every hair on his head. So he said okay and obediently let his eyelids turn his vision black. It was terrifying, the pause before something happened with nothing but blood rushing in Sam's ears. Then there was a nudge, a pressure at the corner of Sam's mouth and he drew a stuttering breath in through his nose. The pressure disappeared and Sam held back a whine. Every nerve on his skin was alive and trembling in a way that he couldn't even fathom putting to words. This was real. This was happening. This - was Dean's lips brushing against Sam's as he said, "Step two: kiss the girl", before Dean's mouth pressed full and plush against Sam's.

Sam's body jerked in reaction and the entire concept of waiting for Dean's commands flew right out the back door of his mind, because Dean was _kissing_ him, and Sam's mouth fell open, his tongue slipping out to press against the closed seam of Dean's lips. Then they were gone, a chuckle blowing across Sam's face.

"Not so fast, kiddo."

Panting, Sam dared to open his eyes, his stomach twisting as he saw Dean's were open too, staring intensely down at Sam. 

"Sorry," Sam choked out.

"You wanna give her a little taste first," Dean explained, his hooded gaze not wavering from Sam's doe-eyed stare. "It's not all tongues and shit right off the bat like you see in the movies. Girls, they like a bit of sweetness to start before you really get into it. Take it slow."

Sam nodded quickly, absorbing Dean's words like a sponge. Anything that would get Dean's lips back on Sam's as soon as possible.

Then Dean was leaning in and Sam's eyes were closing and the pressure was there, sparking electricity from the roots of Sam's hair down to his toes. Sam tensed and pressed himself harder against the wall behind him. 

"Step three: use your hands." The words were mumbled along the line of Sam's mouth and suddenly he had hands, strong calloused hands that he knew so well, hands that could strangle the life out of a man with ease or run affectionately through Sam's hair as he dozed on Dean's shoulder, these hands were dragging gently along Sam's jawline. One hand cupped the side of his face, creeping up a bit into the hair around his ear while the other moved down, three fingers slipping under the neck of Sam's t-shirt to rest on his collarbone while Dean's thumb pressed into the hollow at the base of Sam's throat. Sam made a soft noise, all of his senses zeroing in on the slight pressure of Dean's thumb. "Use your hands, Sammy."

Sam's fingers detached from the wallpaper to settle on Dean's lanky hips, fingers digging into the sharp, tapered bones. 

"Step four," Dean breathed out and Sam breathed in, wanting the air that was in Dean's lungs to slip into his own. "Pick a lip. Pull it in your mouth, suck on it, lick it, anything you do is gonna drive her fuckin' wild."

And then there were teeth, nipping at Sam's bottom lip. He parted his mouth obligingly, his fingers digging into Dean's waist because his bottom lip was being sucked into his brother's mouth and it was an overwhelming wet heat and Sam really had lost all ability to control himself, because a whine erupted from the back of his throat. Almost as if the sound Sam made had been a question, Dean's tongue was an answer, running back and forth along the line of Sam's lip. Sam's heart pounded against his ribcage, threatening to break the bones in its attempt to escape the confines of his chest. 

Dean's body was now pressing tight against Sam's, crowding him back further into the wall. Air hissed out of Sam's mouth as Dean's thigh nudged against his groin and fuck,  _fuck_ , Dean was gonna feel how hard Sam was from a simple, stupid kiss and this entire thing was going to go to hell. And it did go to hell, but not in the way Sam expected. It went to hell because Dean gave up on explaining any more steps to Sam; he was too busy forcing Sam's mouth open even further to lick his way inside. Their tongues met, danced, slipped past each other and Sam could feel his hands now grasping the front of Dean's shirt to steady himself because he could taste the beer in his brother's mouth and he was seeing stars on the back of his eyelids. Dean's hand tugged at Sam's hair and Sam _keened_ , his scalp bursting with sensitivity as the hairs twisted in Dean's fingers and it was the best thing Sam had ever felt in his entire life, with Dean's hands on his neck and Dean's tongue in his mouth, and it was so much, _too_ much, completely overwhelming to the point that Sam thought he was going to spontaneously combust. 

Then Dean was gone, his entire body, breath and touch disappeared. Sam opened his eyes with his hands still outstretched where they had been holding onto Dean's shirt, his chest heaving with pants as he let the wall behind him to hold up his trembling form. 

Dean was about five feet away, his back to Sam as he faced toward the window. Sam could see Dean had one hand on his hip and the other pressed against his mouth.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was wrecked with both want and apprehension. Sam watched Dean's back stiffen. Sam dropped his hands back to his sides, pressing them flat to the wallpaper to support himself a bit more. He didn't trust his legs to keep him upright for much longer.

"You did good, kid," Dean said, still not turning around. "You're a natural."

Pride swung through Sam's body, leaving him with a soft, dopey smile on his face.

"Just, uh," Dean shuffled on his feet for a moment before turning his body towards the door. "I just remembered I left somethin' at the bar."

Sam tilted his head in confusion, his stomach dropping to his feet. 

"Huh?"

"Don't wait up. You got school tomorrow." 

And with that, Dean was striding from the room. When the front door creaked open and slammed shut, Sam let his knees give out, landing in a crumpled pile on the floor. He knew it was going to go wrong. Something always went wrong.

Sam waited up anyway, but under the guise of being asleep. Tucked into his twin-sized bed, he lay facing the door. Sam didn't know what he was expecting, but hearing a very high-pitched, very feminine giggle float to his ears as the front door opened again four hours later was not among them. 

At least Dean had the decency to fuck the girl on the couch and not in the bed next to Sam. He probably would have had to get up to vomit in the bathroom. 

After the third round of moaning and other various sex sounds, Sam heard the front door open and close. Fighting back the tears that had been building behind his eyes the entire time, Sam rolled over to face the window. He forced himself to fall asleep, knowing Dean wasn't going to come back into their room tonight. 

When Sam made out with Janie Thompson the next day and put his hand up her blouse, he couldn't help but miss the flat expanse of a broader chest covered by a worn, ratty t-shirt. 


	3. Sixteen

Sam was sixteen when he got high for the first time.

Sam was sixteen when he got his brother off for the first time as well.

The latest town John had dumped Sam and Dean in before promising to be back in two weeks was just outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Sam had been able to make friends with a small band of misfits at his high school fairly easily since he was starting at the beginning of the school year, all of them sophomores who really couldn’t care about keeping up with their studies. They quickly coined Sam as “the nerd” but welcomed him with open arms, even if he was a little tight-lipped about his home life. The group consisted of three guys and a girl: Collin, Jack, Simon and Teresa. Sam came to learn that the four of them enjoyed taking frequent breaks during school to pile into Jack’s beat up Audi Station Wagon and drive just off campus to smoke a bowl or two of weed.

Sam had never gotten high before. He remembered Dean coming back from a night out smelling pleasantly of green one time, had even found a joint in Dean’s front pocket a few months back when he was doing their laundry, but he'd never tried it himself. So on a random Thursday afternoon, with the five of them all hanging out in Simon’s basement, Collin offered Sam a freshly rolled joint. He politely declined. Probably best not to embarrass himself in front of everyone by coughing up a lung, especially Teresa. She seemed to be sweet on Sam, her bright blue eyes lingering on him when she didn’t think he was watching.

By now, Sam only saw himself as a lanky, too-tall geek boy, as Dean so often reminded him that he was. He had seriously gained some height in the past year and a half, shooting out of jeans so fast that Dean had taken a job at every new town they moved to so he could replace the pants Sam grew too big for. He wasn’t quite sure what Teresa could see in him, but it was nice to see a light blush stain her cheeks when he met her eyes across the room.

Sam relaxed with his new friends, finding a lulling calm in the mellowness of the basement. “Soma” by The Smashing Pumpkins was crooning in the background, the soft notes at the start of the song matching the curls of smoke that left everyone’s mouths. Sam didn’t want to leave, enjoying the cocoon of music and marijuana that had enveloped his body. He knew he wasn’t high, not really, but if it was gonna make him feel this relaxed then he could definitely see himself trying it in the very near future. Maybe he’d buy some and smoke it at home to get a handle of it before trying it with the group around.

Collin apparently had the ability to read Sam’s mind. As everyone started to drift off to their respective homes about an hour later and Sam was pulling on his jacket, he felt a weight in his pocket that hadn’t been there before. Curious, he shoved his hand in, drawing out a small plastic bag. Inside were two neatly rolled joints, innocent enough as they lay end-to-end at the bottom of the bag. Sam looked around in confusion, catching the eye of Collin as he was shrugging on his coat. Collin grinned knowingly at him, his eyes heavy and lidded in his buzz. Knowing that speaking his thanks out loud would ruin the vibe, Sam shoved the bag back into his jacket and nodded quickly at Collin before scurrying out the door.

On his walk home, he slipped his fingers over the smooth plastic in his pocket, debating. Dean had said earlier that he was going out with his buddies from the garage after work so he didn’t have to worry about Dean walking in on Sam and beating his ass for having illegal substances in the house. And it’s not like John would ever know. Sam made a short detour to the nearest convenience store, throwing two bags of chips and a plain black lighter onto the counter before fishing change out of his pockets. Buzzing with anticipation, Sam thanked the cashier, grabbed the bag off the counter and legged his way home. The only good part about being having long legs was the fact that he could make it to wherever he needed to go in no time, even though he usually tripped over his feet most of the way.

Sam practically sprinted up the sidewalk to the front of their house, turning the key to unlock the door. Dropping his bag at the closet as he kicked off his shoes, Sam used his back to close the door behind him. Pulling the plastic baggie out of his pocket, Sam lifted it up to eye-level, squinting at the two roughly shaped paper cylinders. Was he really gonna do this?

“What the fuck is that?”

Sam’s blood ran glacier cold at the sound of his brother’s dangerously low voice. Whipping his arm that held the contraband behind his back, Sam scanned the room to find Dean propping himself up by his elbows on the couch in the middle of the living room, his narrowed eyes fixed on Sam. He looked ruffled with his hair standing up at odd angles, like he had just been woken up from a nap.

“Um. What?” Sam played dumb even though he knew it wasn’t going to end well. Dean rolled off the couch with the lithe grace of a panther slinking towards its prey. Goosebumps riddled Sam’s arms as Dean moved to stand in front of him. Sam pressed himself against the door, trying to angle his hand towards his back jean pocket to tuck the bag away.

“Sam.” Dean was not fucking around, his jaw set and straining as his green eyes burned a hole in the shoulder that was tucked behind Sam.

“Dean,” Sam replied as calmly as he could, finally hooking his finger into the pocket. He shifted his body back a little more to hide the movement of his arm as he shoved the baggie into its new hiding space before bringing it up to slap Dean on the shoulder. “How was work?” He tried to say conversationally, stepping to the side to manoeuvre around his bristling brother. Dean’s hand caught Sam’s elbow before he could pass, throwing him back into the door with a thud.

“You think I’m fuckin’ stupid, Sam?” Dean raised an eyebrow, his chest puffing up in irritation as he crossed his arms in front of his body.

“Do you really want me to answer that?“ Sam snapped, his inner rebellious teen flaring in his chest as he unzipped his jacket to slip it off his shoulders. “Move, Dean.”

Sam forcefully shouldered his way past Dean, tossing his jacket over the back of the couch as he strode into the kitchen. His plan was to casually grab a can of soda from the fridge, beeline it to his room and ignore Dean until he stormed off, but as usual, that’s not how it ended up working out. Sam managed to get his can of soda and begin his trek through the living room towards his bedroom until he felt a sharp kick to the back of his left knee. His leg immediately gave out, a strangled yelp leaving his lips as he face-planted into course fibres and questionable carpet stains. The can of soda bounced out of Sam’s hand and rolled away.

Sam started to rotate his body to bitch at Dean but a heavy weight crushed down onto his back, forcing a wheeze out of his lungs. Dean was shoving his knee into the middle of Sam’s back to keep him down, the jerk. All of a sudden, Sam felt the heat of Dean’s hand slipping into his back pocket, palm down on the denim that hugged the curve of his ass. Sam let out a choked noise, his hands flailing backwards blindly, but the hand quickly withdrew and took the bag along with it. Then the weight was gone and Dean was sitting down on the couch as he pulled a joint out.

“Hey!” Sam scrambled up to his feet, soda can forgotten as he launched himself onto his brother. Dean fended him off with his right arm and leg.

“Seriously, dude? When did you start smoking weed?” Dean inspected the joint carefully as he held Sam’s lanky body at bay with an ease that only made Sam struggle harder.

“I haven’t,” Sam grumbled, shoving Dean’s knee away from his stomach before giving up, huffing as he settled back on the arm of the couch to sulk. He knew Dean wouldn’t give it up now. “Yet.”

“Yet?” Dean turned to look at Sam, eyes dragging over Sam's clothes and face with a skeptical edge. “You reek of it, man.”

Sam shrugged one shoulder, staring at his feet as heat started to prickle his cheeks.

“I’ve been hanging out with some people,” he offered as he scuffed his toe along the carpet, just for something to watch instead of meeting Dean's stare.

“People who are selling you illegal drugs.”

Irritation flared in Sam's chest, drawing his eyes up to glare at his hypocritical big brother. “Oh, right, ‘cause you’re a fuckin’ saint,” Sam retorted, crossing his arms.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth.” Dean smacked Sam’s thigh with the back of his free hand before going back to inspecting the joint in his fingers.

“You’re such an asshole, Dean. Give them back,” Sam made a grab for the joint, only to be knocked away.

“You know what? Just for that, I’m gonna smoke them in front of you and not give you a single drag.”

Dean stood up off the couch and disappeared into his bedroom. It was only a few thundering heartbeats later when he reappeared to stand in front of Sam with a lighter in hand.

“ _Dean_!” Sam whined, unable to help the pout that curled the edges of his mouth down as Dean's face morphed into its typical smug expression.

Ignoring Sam’s protest, Dean tucked the joint between his lips and flicked open his favorite silver Zippo lighter, bringing the wavering flame up to the paper until it caught. Dean pulled in a breath, the red cherry lighting the end of the bud. Sam was quiet now, transfixed with watching Dean’s lips part open in an oval, smoke hovering just inside the wet cavern of his mouth before spilling out in a tangle of white sensual curls.

“Now,” Dean said, his voice a little rougher than before. “I’m gonna go smoke this in peace and quiet so you don’t kill my buzz with your kicked-puppy routine.”

“If this is supposed to be a lesson on not using drugs, you’re doing a stand up fuckin’ job,” Sam bit out. He was peeved that Dean had literally stolen his stash from him and was going to get to enjoy it himself when he had been all pissy two seconds earlier that Sam had even had it on his person.

Sam yelped as Dean cuffed him on the back of his head.

“Stop swearing or I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soap,” Dean threatened, the joint bobbing between his lips as he spoke. Sam gave Dean his coldest glare, which earned him a stupidly big grin in return before Dean swaggered off, flicking the Zippo open and closed on his way until his door shut behind him with a click of finality.

“Dickhead,” Sam growled as he dropped down on the couch. He let himself lay there for about twenty minutes, frowning as the smell of weed started to creep into the living room. With a sigh, he rolled himself onto his feet and padded to Dean’s door. Sam mentally prepared himself to be bitched at for ruining Dean’s mood as he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door halfway open. Sam opened his mouth to start to give some sort of speech about how Dean was impending on his rights or something, but his voice caught in his throat when his eyes registered the scene before him.

Dean was lounging on his bed like a ragdoll that had been tossed aside without a second thought. He was propped up on the headboard of his bed, a mess of pillows behind his back to keep him upright. His right leg was stretched out into the middle of the mattress while his left was hanging off the side, his toes skimming the floor. A Walkman lay by his side, blaring a song through the cheap headset that Sam couldn’t recognize from where he was standing, Dean’s eyes closed as he bobbed his head along to the music with the joint resting in his mouth. What really caught Sam’s eye among all of this was Dean’s hand open and splayed on his stomach, his pinky caught in the hem of his shirt so that as Dean dragged his hand up over his abdomen to his chest, the shirt came with it, thus exposing sun-kissed skin and well toned abs. A shiver clattered down Sam’s spine as he watched Dean’s hand move up, down, up, down, shirt, skin, shirt, skin.

As if he could sense his brother by presence alone, Dean’s eyes parted open slowly, struggling to focus on Sam in the doorway.

“Saaammy,” he drawled, lazily pulling his headphones down to hang around his neck, the joint tipping dangerously at the corner of his mouth. It was practically down to the filter now but still was lit at the end, a smoldering pile of ash.

Sam swallowed thickly and blinked hard, just noticing that Dean’s room was hazy with smoke. He must not have opened his window.

“C’mere.” Dean’s voice was all gravel and loose dirt, dragging over Sam’s bones as he found himself being drawn towards the empty space that Dean was patting beside him. Sam hesitated, letting his fingers brush the duvet cover tentatively as he considered whether this would be a good idea.

“Wha’? You think I got cooties or somethin’?” Dean lifted his arm wide, opening up the side of his body for Sam just like when they were kids. Sam practically had to be surgically removed from Dean’s side up until he was about thirteen. The thought of passing up an opportunity to meld himself to Dean’s body like that again wasn’t even debated. Sam was climbing onto the bed and scooting his way under Dean’s arm in a second, settling down so his head was propped up under the curve of Dean’s shoulder. He crossed his arms over his chest so his hands wouldn’t wander or do something else incredibly stupid. Dean cranked the volume down on the Walkman as he took the headphones off from around his neck, Sam just able to catch the tail end of “Back in Black” as Dean set the device on the floor beside the bed.

“Did you smoke ‘em both?” Sam asked, his eyes falling to the roach that Dean was pulling away from his mouth, one last exhale of smoke following his hand.

Dean tilted his head so he could look down at Sam, a slow, syrupy grin inching across his face. Dean’s eyes were practically black, the pupil eating away at the usual expanse of green that lived there. Sam kind of missed it, missed searching the ring of green for the flecks of orange and brown that looked like piles of autumn leaves scattered through Dean’s irises, but how his eyes were now made Sam’s stomach flip. Even stoned, Dean’s stare was intense, verging on predatory in the way that Sam felt like he was going to be swallowed up, absolutely devoured by the pools of black.

“Nah,” Dean finally said, turning his head to pluck the second joint from the bag Sam hadn’t seen on his other side and let the used roach drop inside. “Savin’ this one for you.”

Sam’s throat tightened and he tried to clear it quietly, keeping his voice low as he asked, “Thought you were gonna smoke them in front of me and not let me have a single drag?”

Dean snorted and rolled his head back and forth against the headboard, his version of shaking his head no.

“No fun that way,” he shrugged, looking at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam swallowed again, trying to get rid of the building pressure in his throat that had been slowly cutting off his air ever since he had tucked himself right along Dean’s body, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, calf to calf. “Here, c’mere, sit in front of me.” Dean retracted his legs so he was sitting cross-legged on the bed. Sam obeyed, albeit reluctantly as he didn’t want to leave his spot tucked against Dean’s shoulder. He crawled forward and copied Dean, crossing his lanky legs over one another as he stared at Dean and awaited further instruction.

Dean rolled the joint back and forth between his thumb and forefinger as he fished his Zippo out of his back pocket. Once he freed the silver square from the confines of his jeans, Dean’s eyes shuttered down to half mast as his gaze dropped to his own hand that was lifting the second joint to the pillows of his lips. Sam didn’t even care that he was grossly involved in watching everything Dean was doing, convincing himself it was because he needed know exactly what to do the next time he hung out with his friends and not because every single move Dean made, no matter how trivial, was pure art.

The Zippo clinked open and the wheel flicked at the command of Dean’s thumb to produce a new flame that danced at the twisted end of the joint, eating away at the paper as Dean inhaled. Sam caught himself inhaling with Dean, transfixed on the pink oval of Dean’s mouth as he waited the few seconds that Dean held the smoke in his lungs before it washed out of his mouth and over Sam’s face. Sam breathed in deeper, closing his eyes as his mouth parted to suck in whatever smoke lingered near him.

“You like that?”

Sam’s hands twitched at Dean’s words, his eyes creaking open to find Dean’s gaze focused on him. There was a spark of curiosity alight in Dean’s eyes that made Sam shift a bit uncomfortably. He barely had a clue as to what kind of gears were turning in Dean’s head on a good day, let alone when he's stoned, so God only knows what that look in his eye could mean.

“I wanna try somethin’,” Dean murmured, and then Sam was being dragged forward by his ankle, his knees now pressed tightly against Dean’s. “You’d…” Dean licked his lips and Sam tracked the movement of Dean’s tongue, biting down hard on his own to stop a whine from rising in his throat. “It’s easier on your lungs.”

“What is?” Sam sounded breathless even to his own ears. The entire room was closing in on him, shrinking down until it was just him, Dean, the bed beneath their bodies and the joint between Dean’s fingers.

“You know what shotgunning is?” Dean lifted the bud to his mouth for a second time, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. Sam shook his head no, fingers trembling where they rested on his kneecaps. Something flared in the pools of Dean’s pupils and Sam tried to peer in to figure out exactly what it was, but Dean ducked his head down as he drew in his next hit. It was a long, deep pull and the only sound besides two sets of lungs breathing was the crackle of paper being eaten up by the cherry at the end of the joint.

After a moment, Dean lifted his head as he pulled the joint away and leaned towards Sam. Instinctively, Sam leaned forward too, as if Dean was a magnet that drew Sam with him wherever he went. Dean lifted his free hand between them to form a tight ‘o’ with his thumb and forefinger before pressing it against Sam’s mouth, the three other fingers gently cupping his face. Sam froze, his entire body rigid. Wait. What the hell was he doing?

“Just breathe in when I breathe out,” Dean was saying over the blood rushing in Sam’s ears. Some smoke spilled out of his mouth as he spoke, but he sucked it back in before closing the remaining few inches between his and Sam’s faces and then, shitshitshit, there were millimeters between their mouths now, and Sam’s opened on principle because his entire body was humming with anticipation, and now Dean was blowing smoke into his lungs and Sam choked. He turned his head into the corner of his elbow and started coughing, the heavy taste of marijuana clinging to his tongue and burning his lungs.

“S’ okay, Sammy, you’ll be okay.” Dean was rubbing circles between Sam’s shoulder blades, which made Sam dizzy. He sat upright once he regained control of his breathing again, blinking back the tears that had popped up at the force that his lungs had expelled the foreign smoke.

“Again. Try again.” Sam’s voice was rattling and rough from coughing, but he kind of liked the wrecked edge it had and the way it made Dean’s eyes travel down the length of his throat.

Nodding his affirmation, Dean took another drag, made the same shape with his hand to form a small tunnel to blow the smoke through to reach Sam’s mouth on the other side. This time Sam took it in, the odd feeling of something other than oxygen swirling in his lungs making him wince as he held it in as best he could. At Dean’s signal, Sam blew it all out, his eyes watering slightly as he coughed a little right at the end of his stream. Dean grinned at him, all big-brother-proud that Sam was picking it up so fast under his direction. Sam couldn’t help but wonder what other things in his life Dean would be the one to show him how to do.

Without Sam having to tell Dean he wanted another go, he was sucking in a drag and tilting his upper body towards Sam, but this time his hand didn’t come up to form the tunnel. Sam’s breathing hitched as he watched Dean’s eyes slip half shut before pausing a hair’s breadth away from Sam’s mouth. They both hovered there, neither one breaking the palpable tension that created the invisible barrier between both pairs of lips. The last time they had been this close hadn’t ended well. But this also wasn’t like last time. Dean’s just teaching me different techniques of smoking, Sam allowed himself to think, to justify why his brother would be an infinitesimal space away from his mouth at this moment.

Then Dean was breathing out and Sam was breathing in, both of them in sync with the other in the weed-induced exchange of give and take. His eyes slipping shut, Sam closed his mouth and felt the roiling burn of the smoke in his lungs and the blood singing in his veins and the fuzziness of his tongue in his mouth. Once his lungs began to scream for oxygen, Sam opened his eyes and exhaled, touching his tongue to the back of his teeth so the smoke poured out in two separate streams at the corners of his mouth. Dean hadn’t moved an inch, his dilated pupils sluggishly watching Sam's little spectacle as the smoke mingled with the rest of the faint blanket that hung in the air of his room.

The concept of time seemed to escape Sam as he felt his body settle into a new state of heaviness from the weed, because he couldn’t be sure if it was a matter of seconds, minutes or hours where both he and Dean just sat there, knees touching, faces centimeters apart, just silently staring. Sam wondered if his irises had been eaten away by his pupils like Dean’s had.

“Again,” Sam finally rasped, and he then noticed that his knuckle had been rubbing over the denim covering Dean’s kneecap. He decided not to stop, because the rough scratch of the fabric on the soft skin of his finger was soothing.

“Okay,” Dean conceded.

The process began once more, Dean leaning forward with smoke in his lungs and Sam leaning forward with his heart in his throat, both of them holding no regard for the invisible barrier that should have remained between their mouths. It was now lip against lip, a soft pressure as both parted open and smoke poured out from one and into the other. Sam forgot to hold it in as long as he could, expelling the smoke too soon because Dean’s lips hadn’t moved from his and it was making his lungs seize up. Every drugged nerve in his body must have migrated to his mouth without his noticing, because the sensitivity just under the skin of his lips was breaching the point of pain.

Sam and Dean just exchanged oxygen and carbon dioxide now, heavy pants rising out of the lungs of both of them as neither one made a first move. Decades passed, light years and centuries swirling by them in their cocoon of marijuana smoke before there was a nudge, Sam would never be able to pinpoint who started it, and a tilt and then their lips were slotting together like two puzzle pieces that were made only to fit with each other.

Every cell in Sam’s body became a volcano, pouring molten lava into his bloodstream as Dean’s mouth moved against his and all he could think was _finally_ as his hands slid over Dean’s knees and up his thighs. A groan rattled against Sam’s lips as he felt Dean’s legs shift, uncrossing to make space for Sam, who was now being dragged forward by two palms cupping his backside. He let out a choked hiccup of breath, his fingers digging into denim and toned legs as Dean’s hands slipped down into Sam’s back pockets, fingers gently massaging Sam’s ass through the layers of fabric. Sam didn’t know where to focus his attention, whether it be his hands on Dean’s thighs or Dean’s hands on his butt or Dean’s tongue sliding between his lips to lick at the roof of his mouth. Sam had never been more overwhelmed in his entire life, colors bursting and breaking in the blackness against the backs of his eyelids as he shifted up onto his knees to give Dean better access. Sam let his tongue slide against Dean’s, humming low in his throat at the wet tangle that ensued.

Overcome with a brilliant yet potentially dangerous idea, Sam surged forward, moving his hands up to Dean’s shoulders to support his weight as he threw his legs one at a time over Dean’s, bracketing Dean’s hips between his thighs. Dean hissed against Sam’s mouth, his hands stuttering out of Sam’s pockets to grip Sam’s waist tightly.

“Fuck, Sam, fuck,” Dean panted, dragging his open mouth up Sam’s cheek. Sam could feel the weed-humid air start to dry the trail of saliva that Dean’s mouth had left from the corner of Sam’s mouth up to his cheekbone.

“Dean,” Sam whined softly, his hands now digging into Dean’s cropped hair, the short strands slipping against the sensitive webs between his fingers. “Please, I-“ He cut himself off with a gasp as Dean latched his mouth over the pulse point in his neck, sucking and running his tongue up and down the vein that thrummed in time with Sam’s jackrabbiting heartbeat. A flash memory of the backseat of the Impala and a Zeppelin song flickered across Sam’s mind before puffing away into the haze around him.

“C’mon, Sam,” Dean’s voice was silk in Sam’s ear, pouring into his brain and his blood, swirling into every frayed nerve that was over-sensitive and trembling from _DeanDeanDean_. The hands on Sam’s hips guided him down to press tightly into Dean’s lap, his thumbs tracing lazy circles into the jut of Sam’s hipbones that peeked over the waistband of his jeans. Both of them let out satisfied, needy sounds as they settled against each other, Sam’s thighs squeezing tightly around Dean’s waist. Sam’s hand slipped down to grab the back of Dean’s neck, rolling his head to the side so Sam was able to tongue his way down the long expanse of heated skin.

“Christ,” Dean muttered, one hand dancing under the hem of Sam’s t-shirt to slot into the grooves of his ribs, settling in to move with the rapid rise and fall of Sam’s lungs expanding and contracting under his palm. The muscles fluttered under his touch as Sam shivered at the feeling of having his brother's fingers tight against his skin.

The faint smell of burning fabric caught Sam’s attention from where he was dragging his teeth along the line of Dean’s jaw. With belated alarm, they turned to see the still smoldering blunt on the bedspread near Sam’s knee, the tip scalding a black mark into the duvet and just on the edge of catching fire. Clearly not in a sober state of mind and only focused on getting rid of the distraction, Sam reached down and pinched the end of the joint between two fingers until it was tampered out, the searing heat from hot ash not registering on his fingertips for a good few seconds after he had taken his hand away.

“Ow,” Sam said plainly, staring at the angry red burn now throbbing on the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

“You idiot, what’re you-“ Dean growled, his hands diving forward to cradle Sam’s hurt fingers between their chests. With gentle brushes, Dean took off any extra ash that covered Sam’s sores, leaving the marks bright red and smudged with black. From Sam’s position on Dean’s lap he was able to look down and watch as Dean’s fingers danced around the skin of his palm to his fingers and back, unsure what to do. All Sam knew is that he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain as long as Dean’s hands were on his skin.

After a moment of deliberation, Dean lifted his head and met Sam’s eyes. Bringing up their entwined hands between them, Dean pushed Sam’s forefinger higher than the rest, his nearly black eyes fixated on Sam’s face, watching him flush as Dean sucked Sam’s finger into his mouth. A moan crawled out of Sam’s throat, unbidden, as he felt Dean’s hot, wet tongue press flat against his finger, soothing the burn. Sam leaned forward to rest his forehead into the crook of Dean’s neck, his entire body turning to jelly as Dean’s tongue flicked, licked and slid around his finger.

“No,” Dean commanded, his voice slurred as he spoke around the intrusion in his mouth. “Wanna see your face, Sammy. Wanna see what it does to you.”

Sam’s eyes rolled back into his head as he lifted his head immediately, his free hand twisting hard in the collar of Dean’s shirt, hard enough that he heard the popping of several stitches that held the fabric together.

“Dean-“ Sam choked out, feeling dizzy with the force that his arousal had slammed into him. Yeah, he had been hard when they had started kissing, but this, this was so much more. This was Dean working the pad of Sam’s fingertip with his tongue the way that Sam wanted him to be working another part of his body that was further south. This was Dean, big brother and father figure and pain in the ass and entire world _Dean_ , sucking on Sam's finger like it was the only thing he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Sam was panting heavily by the time he strung a few coherent thoughts together, and reluctantly pulled his forefinger out of Dean’s mouth with a slick ‘pop’ that made goosebumps rise on his arms. Dean looked almost dejected, his mouth swollen and inviting as it remained parted, his own harsh breaths mingling with Sam’s. Sam untangled his hand from Dean’s to push his thumb forward on his own accord, dragging along the plush pillow of Dean’s bottom then top lip, a trail of sooty black skimming along the pink of his mouth. The contrast between the two made Sam shiver. He forced his eyes to his hand as he dipped his thumb into the wet heat of Dean’s mouth, unable to help groaning when Dean’s eyes fluttered shut. The moment Dean’s tongue swirled around his angry skin, Sam bucked down into Dean’s lap, gasping as he felt the heated line of Dean’s erection against his inner thigh. Dean bit down on Sam’s thumb, hard enough that Sam knew the imprints of his teeth would be there for at least a day, and that very idea made all the blood in Sam’s body rush to his groin.

“God. Dean. _Dean_.” Sam pawed at Dean’s chest with his other hand as he rolled his hips down again, his breath hitching high and needy in his throat. Dean’s cheeks hollowed around Sam’s thumb as he sucked the entire length of it into his mouth, his lips brushing the webbing that stretched up to connect to Sam’s forefinger. Dean’s hands were back on Sam’s ass, palming the curve before pulling it down, encouraging Sam’s stuttering rutting into Dean’s lap. “Kiss me, please, Dean, need you to.” The words were pleading to Sam’s ears but he didn’t care, couldn’t afford to, because everything was heat and wet and fitting together perfectly except for their mouths, and that was the final piece to this unravelling puzzle.

With a short nod, Dean let Sam’s thumb slide out of his mouth, pushing it out with his tongue before tilting his soot-covered lips up to capture Sam’s. The taste of ash flooded Sam’s tastebuds as Dean’s tongue seeked out every inch of space he had to offer, smothering Sam with blackness and pure, unadulterated lust. His hips worked faster now with Dean’s hands to guide him, pulling him down to meet Dean’s thigh so they could both get some semblance of relief from the building pressure that was quickly reaching boiling point. Dean was losing it fast, these hot, strangled noises bursting from him and into Sam’s mouth as his hips lifted to meet each one of Sam’s down strokes. Their hands were everywhere now, sliding under shirts, brushing over quivering abdomens or slipping up necks to trace along jaws.

Dean must have remembered, because the next thing Sam felt was fingers digging into Sam’s scalp and tightening around the strands to yank back. Sam exploded, white heat shooting from the roots of his hairs down to his toes, rocking his entire body in a shockwave of pleasure. Sam gasped and moaned into Dean’s mouth, a stream of unintelligible words babbling out of his throat as he completely fell apart, intermittent with whispers of “please” “oh god” and “Dean". His brother followed not even a second after, biting into Sam’s bottom lip as he groaned out “Sammy” over and over and worked in tandem with Sam’s hips until both of them were completely spent. Sam collapsed onto Dean’s chest, trembling with aftershocks as Dean continued to knead and tug on his sensitive scalp.

Their breaths hung in the humid air, puffing out slower and slower as their heart rates began to settle. Sam could hear Dean’s heartbeat under his ear, his eyes lulling closed as each pound reverberated through his entire being. Fingers danced up and down his spine, bumping over the ridges of each vertebrae. This was heaven, Sam decided. It had to be.

Except his heaven didn’t have the shrill ring of the phone breaking his hazy, pleasurable cocoon of Dean and weed, insistent and urgent. Both of them stiffened. Only one person had the number for the house.

“Dad,” Dean choked out, settling Sam onto the bed before tearing out into the kitchen to grab the receiver. Sam lay back where he was placed, trying to listen as Dean replied in short, clipped affirmations to whatever John was saying on the other end. The receiver clicked back into place and Sam could hear Dean pause before making his way back to stand in the doorway of his room. Sam pushed himself up on the bed by his elbows, forcing his eyes fully open to watch as Dean pushed both hands through his hair and tugged hard.

“Dad’s on his way back,” Dean choked out, staring at his feet. Sam’s blood ran cold, his heart stopping in his chest. “He couldn’t-whatever it is he’s chasing ran and he has to follow it. Can’t leave us, because it might take months so we have to pack up now-“ Dean stepped back a bit, his eyes flicking down to the evidence of the events that had just occurred at the crotch of his pants. The color immediately drained from Dean’s face. “Shit. Shit.” And with that, Dean spun on his heel and ran into the bathroom, the door slamming resolutely behind him. Sam could hear the shower start running.

Flopping down onto his back, Sam stared at the ceiling. The room was growing less hazy as the smoke began to filter out of Dean’s room through the door that was left ajar in Dean’s haste to get to the phone. Rolling out of the bed to stand on still-trembling knees, Sam stumbled to the window and cranked it open, letting fresh air in to sweep out every sin that had been committed there in the room.

When John pulled up into the driveway two hours later, he was met by two freshly showered boys with every last belonging the family owned in their hands. John didn’t even have to get out of the car, the two brothers throwing everything into the trunk and the backseat before clambering in themselves, Dean in the front and Sam in the back.

John sniffed the air, eyebrows rising to his hairline as he put the Impala in reverse.

“Go a little heavy on the aftershave, boys?” he commented, watching Sam lift his shirt up to his nose in the rearview mirror.

Dean looked out the window, staring at the house as John threw the gear into drive and stepped on the gas.

“Sam spilled half the bottle on himself,” Dean said, his tone oddly strained. 

John's eyes met Sam's in the rearview, watching as Sam cleared his throat and picked at the knee of his jeans. 

"Right," John said slowly, deciding to ignore whatever tension was obviously straining between the two boys. "Well we've got a ways to go. Dean, get in the back and grab some shut eye. I'm running on 48 hours of no sleep and want you to take the wheel after we hit the state line."

"Yessir," Dean nodded, turning to clamber over the front seat to get into the back. Sam slid aside to accommodate his brother, reaching down to pull out a blanket from a bag at his feet to offer it to Dean. John watched Dean stare at his brother before taking it, shaking it open to drape over them both to protect them from the cool autumn temperature. Both dozed off within minutes.

John couldn't see it, but under the blankets Dean's fingers were rubbing back and forth over the curve of Sam's kneebone, his touch the only lullaby Sam needed to fall asleep.


	4. Eighteen

Sam was eighteen when he almost lost his virginity.

The past year had been nothing short of an emotional rollercoaster, except with far more lows than highs.

The day after what Sam dubs “the incident” in Oklahoma, Dean completely withdrew into himself, not touching Sam any more than was absolutely necessary. Literally. He would go out of his way to gesture at something for Sam to see rather than his usual method of spinning Sam around by his shoulders to shove his face in it, or he would hand things to Sam as they dangled from his fingertips, as if any contact with his skin would send Dean bursting into flames. He even stopped giving Sam noogies or putting him in chokeholds for the last piece of pizza.

The only times Sam could get Dean’s hands on him was if they were sparring, under John’s orders. Sam found himself living for those sessions, craning his body in ways that couldn’t be natural as they grappled with one another just to get a brush of Dean’s skin against his. He was seriously lacking in the brotherly-touching department, finding that he would often daydream about the days when Dean’s hands would work through knots in his hair after a hunt while Sam dozed on his shoulder, or the push-press of the pads of Dean’s fingers on his twisted ankle when Sam was 13 and had been playing soccer behind Bobby’s house. They had always been connected through their physical contact with hands steadying or knuckles grinding or legs tangling, but always, _always_ touching in some shape or form.

Sam wondered if he could be driven insane from lack of contact.

While he may have been miserably missing his brother’s touch, he wasn’t exactly left wanting for _other_ kinds of touch. Now that Sam had hit the tail end of his puberty-induced growth spurt to hit an easy 6’1 along with John’s constant drills, exercises and general physical demand, he had filled out from a lanky, coltish teenager with two left feet into something resembling a man.

He noticed that eyes fell on him with interest now instead of skipping over him, girls whispering to each other with stifled giggles and a blush instead of snickering like he was used to. He preened under their attention, learned to roll his shoulders back and stand up tall, confident. Sam still kept his hair long because he liked being able to duck his head and look up under his bangs, adding a shy and boyish charm to the entire package he was selling.

And boy, did it sell.

Maybe he was making up for Dean’s negligent touch by finding it instead with a smoldering flick of his eyes and a slow, dragging smirk that had a girl named Tia fisting her manicured hand in the front of his shirt to drag him into the bathroom before dropping to her knees. And it was only day two at school number who-the-fuck-knows. A personal record.

He usually tried to keep the interactions limited to after school or weekends, but he was never one to turn down acts of spontaneity. He also never let it go any further than third base, always putting the brakes on or offering to finish the girl off, which she never complained about. There was something that caught his heart in a snare, yanking him out of the moment before it could progress to sex itself.

Sam lost track of how many smiles he curled or appraising looks he offered as he let the fish hook of promise dangle. Without fail, he always had a catch.

The first time that a guy latched onto his bait, however, Sam was a bit thrown.

John, Dean and Sam had just settled into Bumfuck, Nowhere and Sam was a week into his winter semester, the promise of graduation really starting to loom over him. John was home for only one more day, wrapping up research with Dean’s help so he could find the trail of a werewolf who had recently taken to ravaging the next town over.

It was third period, and if Sam were an average student, he would probably be praying for the bell to ring to send them all to lunch, except that this was the first class in five schools that actually had new material Sam hadn’t covered before. He was diligently copying notes from the chalkboard, his pen scribbling so fast that his hand was starting to cramp. As luck would have it, the pen began to run out, deep imprints from the force he was pushing the metal nib into the paper lining the white space instead of his black scrawl. And it was the only pen he had brought with him to school today. Of course.

Sam scribbled harshly in the top corner of his page with a low cuss, hoping to squeeze out any last dregs of ink before it completely died to no avail.

“Here, use mine.”

The voice was rich and smooth, slipping into Sam’s ears with a musical tune. Sam turned his head to see a pen being offered to him, a tan hand attached to an even tanner arm which curled up to an impressive expanse of chest trapped under a plain black t-shirt. Sam’s eyes flickered up to meet bright green, the skin crinkling at the corners as the guy wiggled the pen between his fingers.

“You sure?” Sam croaked out before a blush stained his cheeks.

“Positive. I’m completely lost anyway, so at least someone will get use out of it.”

Sam hesitated, then reached out and clicked the pen open with a snick. The guy grinned at him as if Sam had just told him he won the lottery. Holy shit, he had a nice smile. And face, with a straight nose and gently curving jaw with a light shadow of a beard dusting across it. And hair, dirty blonde and a little scruffy so that if it caught a certain light it could almost be brown.

“Thanks. I’ll give it back in a sec, promise,” Sam twirled the pen in his hand, a half smile pulling at his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it. You can just return it to me in History.”

At Sam’s quizzical look, the guy chuckled under his breath and turned towards the front of the classroom, watching Sam from the corner of his eye.

“We have a few classes together,” he explained in a low voice. “You’re Sam, right? You’re new?”

Sam bit his lip, looking down long enough to finish scribbling the note he had been taking before his pen crapped out, then quickly returned his gaze to the guy.

“Yeah,” Sam felt a real smile creeping up even as his teeth continued to gnaw on his bottom lip. “It seems you know more about me than I do about you. What’s your name?”

Sam could feel the familiar fire start to smolder deep in his stomach as he watched the guy turn his head fully to the side to watch Sam bite his lip. The intensity with which he stared made Sam’s face heat immediately, the blush working its way up his neck to reach his ears as he let his lip fall away from his teeth. After a few more seconds of shameless staring, the guy looked up to meet Sam’s eyes this time. Smiling again, he introduced himself as Luke.

Sam barely heard the bell ring above the roaring in his ears as the two of them ran their eyes over each other’s faces. Luke was the first to move, gathering his blank notebook up with the math textbook to drop both into the bag at his feet. Sam blinked himself back into reality before shoving his own things in his backpack and rising to his feet. He was taller than Luke, but not by much. This guy was broader, his chest and shoulders straining to be contained under the cotton of his t-shirt as he looped his bag over his shoulder. Sam wondered if he was a football player. The thought sent a sharp thrill into the pit of his stomach.

“Nice to officially meet you, Sam,” Luke offered his hand. Sam took it, his arm jerking a bit at the shock of electricity that zipped through him at the contact. Luke’s ever-growing smile made it clear that Sam wasn’t the only one who felt it. “I’ll see you in History.”

“Yeah,” Sam was dazed and confused, still shaking Luke’s hand. “I’ll, uh-“ Sam cleared his throat and let go, shoving the hand that betrayed him into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ll bring the pen.”

“Forget the pen,” Luke laughed, throwing his head back a little. Sam blatantly stared at the long line of throat stretched before him. Meeting Sam’s eyes again, Luke took a couple steps backwards towards the door. “Just bring yourself and that’ll be good enough for me.” And with that, Luke spun on his heel and strode out of the room.

Sam, meanwhile, was trying to find his tongue because he was 110% certain that he had swallowed it in the last minute out of pure shock.

He was fascinated now, staring into the depths of his locker as he mechanically placed his books onto the top shelf that was eye level for him. There was absolutely no other way to interpret Luke’s words than straight up flirting. And he had noticed Sam, knew that they had multiple classes together. Made it clear he wanted to see Sam in History, the last class of the day. Plus he was good looking. Like, _seriously_ good looking.

A lump in his throat, Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head forward to press against the cold metal. What was he doing? He usually did this dance with girls, only girls. He wasn’t gay. Dean…Dean was…Dean doesn’t count. Sam lifted his head a little, only to let it bang back down on the metal of his locker. But Sam couldn’t deny the spark of curiosity now kindling in his chest, persistent to discover if maybe, _maybe_ this guy had the answers Sam needed. Maybe this guy was the perfect little experiment to find out if Sam was actually bi and just misplacing his feelings onto his brother because Dean happened to be a decent-looking male with whom he spent most of his time. Maybe this guy was the key to figuring out if Sam wasn’t just a brother-loving freak.

History couldn’t come fast enough. Sam was the first in his seat near the back of the class, Luke’s pen tapping a rapid rhythm on the top of his desk in his nervousness. He tried not to watch the door too obviously but failed. The smile that threatened to break across his face when Luke walked into the classroom was far too big so Sam smothered it by ducking his head and letting his hair shield his face as he composed himself. The chair creaked beside him as Luke settled in, dropping a notebook onto his desk with a slap.

“Hey.”

Sam felt the switch flip, going on auto-pilot as he tilted his head to look at Luke with his bangs brushing over his eyelashes in just the right way that he knew would clearly convey his message.

“Hey,” he replied smoothly, a big improvement from his frog-croak back in Math.

By the light dusting of pink across Luke’s cheeks, Sam’s message had been received loud and clear. And by the slow, spreading grin that inched across his face, Luke was interested. Very interested.

Both of them turned towards the front of the classroom as the teacher entered, demanding silence and rapt attention. They were thrown right into note-taking, giving Sam little time to mull over the day’s events out of fear of missing something important in the teacher’s lecture. But as the final bell rang to release them from school, Sam knew this was going to be good. As he tried to hand Luke the pen back, Luke had shook his head, wrapping his hand around Sam’s to push it back to Sam’s chest.

“Keep it,” Luke winked, actually _winked_ , before removing his hand to give him a wave. “See you around, Sam.”

After Sam had regained enough of his wits to become aware of his surroundings, he looked down to find that Luke had subtly tucked a note into his palm. On it was a phone number.

His face burning, Sam shoved the crumpled paper into his back pocket before gathering his things to rush out the door. He couldn’t help it as he practically skipped down the front steps of the school and started to make his way through the parking lot to head towards the house John’s friend was letting them stay in.

“What’s got you so happy?”

Sam tripped over his feet before catching himself, spinning around to see Dean leaning against the Impala, face blank and arms crossed. How did Sam walk right by his brother?

“Uh.” was Sam’s intelligent response.

Dean raised an eyebrow before chalking it up to teenage weirdness or something as he slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the creaking door shut behind him.

“Get in. Unless you feel like walking the ten miles to the house?” Dean wasn’t looking at Sam now, his eyes trained straight ahead as he turned the engine over.

Sam scowled. Leave it to Dean to ruin his good mood. He considered telling Dean that that’s exactly what he felt like but ultimately decided he didn’t want to get into a fight, not today. So Sam moved around to the passenger side and flopped onto the familiar stretch of leather, tossing his bag at his feet. Dean shifted the car into reverse, arm reaching towards Sam along the backseat as he looked out the rear window. Sam couldn’t help but stare at the skin stretched over the back of Dean’s hand, hugging the veins that stood out in smooth lines, and hugged the pronounced knuckles at the base of Dean’s fingers. All too soon, the object of his fascination disappeared from his sight to grip onto the steering wheel as Dean pulled out of the parking lot.

Knowing the drive was going to be silent and uncomfortable just like every other interaction the two brothers had nowadays, Sam pressed his forehead against the window to stare at the trees whipping by along the side of the road.

He wondered how long it was appropriate to wait before calling someone to hook up.

Turns out that the night of was just fine. John had left not even two hours before with the promise of returning within a week and a half, and Sam shoved Dean’s half-assed dinner down his throat before slipping into his bedroom with the excuse of having homework to catch up on. Sam perched nervously on the side of his bed, the springs creaking under his weight as he picked up the phone that sat on his bedside table. Holding Luke’s number in his other hand, Sam punched in the ten digits, heart pounding as the line began to trill in his ear. Luke picked up just after the third ring, excitement plain as day in his voice. By the end of the phone call, Sam had agreed to tutor Luke in what he knew about Math tomorrow after school. Fingers shaking, he clicked the receiver back down into its cradle.

Did he really just make a date with a guy?

A stupid smile started to fight its way across Sam’s face just as his bedroom door flew open. Sam let out a choked noise of surprise, jumping out of his skin as he was met with Dean’s dark outline in the doorway.

“Does homework usually involve talking to yourself for ten minutes straight?” There was an underlying accusation in Dean’s tone. Sam bristled, the paper crumpling in his hand as it automatically tightened into a fist.

“I dunno, Dean. Do you usually eavesdrop on people for fun?”

“Wall’s thin,” Dean grunted back. Sam couldn’t see Dean’s eyes due to the darkness of his room so he couldn’t read whatever emotions were running through his usually expressive irises. “I could hear you from my room. Can’t help it if you’re yammering on over here.” Dean fell silent after a moment and looked down, scuffed his toe on the floor. Looked back up. “Who were you talking to?” Dean nudged his chin at the phone Sam was still sitting beside, his tone suddenly tentative and curious, like he hadn't been avoiding Sam like the plague for the better part of a year now.

“Since when did anything I do become interesting to you?” Sam retorted, irritation burning hot in his chest. He stalked over to his closet and turned his back to his brother, tugging off his shirt to change into a sleep shirt instead.

“Was just wondering is all.” Sam could hear Dean’s shrug in his voice and rolled his eyes as he forced John’s old oversized AC/DC tee over his head. Turning back around, Sam made his way over to the door to stand right in front of Dean, who had gone stock still as he leaned against the door frame, a small smirk jerking up the corner of his mouth as he was able to actually look  _down_ to meet Dean’s eyes instead of having to crane his neck up. Another perk of his growth spurt.

“That’s rich,” Sam replied, running a hand through his mop of hair as he forced his voice to remain calm and cool. “Since you haven’t bothered to hold a conversation consisting of more than three sentences with me for over a year now.” His eyes fell to Dean’s throat, watched it contract with a painful swallow, and shook his head, pushing past Dean to head into the bathroom. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything more out of his brother, who was probably shell-shocked that Sam had finally called him on his shit. He brushed his teeth, splashed cold water on his face and returned to his bedroom a few minutes later. Dean was gone, probably retreated to his room to avoid any other form of confrontation. Smart move on his part.

Sam barely slept that night but was still up at the break of dawn, throwing on his usual running gear to get his morning run in before Dean decided to go too. He returned sweating and panting after half an hour, shirt in hand after it had gotten too damp midway through his run. Figuring Dean to still be asleep, he shouldered his way into the bathroom with his head down to make sure he didn't trip himself as he stepped out of his shorts to just be in his boxers. Then he lifted his head, blinking hard against the sweat stinging his eyes, only to find Dean, toothbrush in mouth, staring at him from his place next to the sink.

Still panting from his run, Sam’s eyes darted between both of Dean’s as he watched Dean’s gaze move over his exercise-flushed chest and matted hair that was sticking unattractively to his forehead. Sam felt his heart constrict in his chest under Dean’s roaming eyes and gripped his shirt tighter in his hand. The moment was building too fast, the tension thickening the very air he needed to breathe. Sam cleared his throat. With a jerk of his head, Dean snapped back to face the sink, viciously scrubbing the inside of his mouth with the toothbrush a few more times before spitting, rinsing and tossing the piece of plastic onto the counter top in his rush to leave the bathroom.

Sam stood, frozen, as he tried to sum up what just happened in his head. The feeling of his own sweat drying on his skin prompted him to finally move. He shut the door behind him and finished stripping before turning the shower on. Just over the spray from the shower head, Sam heard the front door slam shut. Sam swallowed hard and shook his head, stepping under the hot water to let the scalding drops burn away every stupid, Dean-related thought in his head. Not today. Today was about Luke.

And it really was about Luke. And Luke’s dick, which happened to be halfway down Sam’s throat with their notes crinkling under Sam’s knees from where he was crouched over the lower half of Luke’s body on his bed. The entire school day had been a blur of vibrating anticipation, especially as Luke walked Sam over to his house before informing him that his dad wouldn’t be home until later that night. So here they were, both red faced and sweating from their excessive make out session that ended just moments earlier when Luke had whispered how badly he wanted Sam to blow him. And Sam obliged.

It was his first time handling a dick other than his own, especially in his mouth, but he just tried to focus on exactly what he had done to his a few weeks back by Tia. She had done this flick-thing with her tongue right at the tip that made Sam come a second later, so maybe that would work. Sam mimicked the movement with his own tongue, the result being a hand grabbing the back of his head and a gasped warning that Luke was about to shoot his load. Curious about what another guy’s come would taste like, Sam resisted Luke’s anxious yank at his hair and milked Luke through his orgasm, moaning as he swallowed everything Luke had to give just as he came in his own pants from the feeling of his hair being gripped and twisted. At this point, Sam just accepted that he got off from having his hair pulled.

Luke pushed himself up on his elbows and lifted Sam’s face to kiss him again. Sam was still startled at the feeling of having a guy’s mouth on his that wasn’t his brother’s. Luke’s lips were dry, a bit smaller than Dean’s, and his tongue didn’t slide along Sam’s in the way that - no. No. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and fisted his hand harder in Luke's shirt. He needs to stop fucking thinking about Dean.

“That was incredible,” Luke said when they stopped to breathe, both of their chests heaving. “You’re incredible.”

Sam flushed with the praise, not quite sure what to say back. Thanks for letting me have your dick down my throat?

“Maybe we should actually do some homework, huh?” Luke chuckled.

Sam grinned lightly. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

“Wait-“ Luke’s eyes darted down to Sam’s lap, making Sam's cheeks burn even hotter. “Do you want me to-?”

“No,” Sam mumbled, avoiding eye contact as he rubbed his finger over the top of Luke’s dark blue duvet. “No, I, uh, I’m good.”

Luke’s smile was brilliant. “You came from sucking my dick?”

“Combination of that and the, uh, hair pulling,” Sam couldn’t stop blushing as he said the words. Just like that, Luke smashed his lips back to Sam’s, their teeth clacking together from the force of it. He worked a groan out of Sam's throat with a few flicks of his tongue before pulling back to watch his hand as he ran his fingers through Sam’s damp bangs, a wicked grin growing on his face.

“That’s good to know for next time.”

Next time. There was going to be a next time.

They finished the afternoon with some actual studying, Sam easily imparting his knowledge of mathematics onto Luke to help him grasp some basic concepts to help him in the future. Luke was kind, offering food or something before Sam left but Sam answered with a quick smile before helping himself to another blowjob by lifting Luke up onto his kitchen counter despite his spluttering. Sue him for wanting to get some practice in.

Sam declined Luke’s offer to walk him home, not wanting to face the questions that Dean would probably impose on him about why a guy just dropped his little brother off. With a genuine thanks from Luke about helping with math and an invitation for Sam to come back this coming weekend since his dad would be out of town, Sam headed down the front steps with a wave. Falling into an easy lope to cut across a park that would take him closer to his house, he felt his heart stuttering and giving out in his chest as he realized that he just hooked up with a guy. A guy other than Dean. Not that he had ever hooked up with Dean. Does dry humping count as hooking up? Sam shook his head violently, readjusting his backpack on his shoulders. He seriously needed to stop thinking about Dean. 

It didn’t take long for Sam to make it back to the house, nudging the front door open just as the clock hit six. He figured Dean would be out or in his room or something so he would be able to make it to his room unnoticed, but instead he was immediately greeted by a solid punch to the jaw. Reeling backwards for a second in his shock, Sam quickly dropped his bag and ducked before the next swing could connect with any part of his body. Pushing off the balls of his feet, Sam threw himself into Dean’s stomach to try and knock him down onto his back and get an advantage, but his head was still spinning from the force of the initial punch and he didn't give himself enough leverage. Dean easily caught Sam’s leg with his foot and twisted the two of them, tumbling them both to the floor with Dean pinning Sam to the hard linoleum.

“Where the _fuck_ were you?” Dean spit in Sam’s face, breathing hard. Sam took a moment to gather himself, an exasperated groan leaving him as he really started to feel the pain radiating through his body. His jaw was aching like a son of a bitch, he could barely breathe with Dean’s knee digging into his stomach and, yeah, he was still a little out of his head from his afternoon with Luke. So it took him a minute to find his words, slur them out around his tired tongue.

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Dean gritted his teeth, lifting Sam’s back off the floor by the front of his shirt before slamming him back down.

“This isn’t _funny_ , Sam. Jesus Christ, you forget how to use a damn phone? I thought somethin’-shit, I thought somethin’ happened to you.”

After blinking away the stars in his vision, Sam finally focused on Dean’s face, which was flushed with worry and anger, his eyebrows knitting together tightly over darkened eyes. He had actually been scared, worried that Sam could have been hurt or bleeding in a ditch somewhere. Shame gnawed its way into Sam’s stomach. He knew what it was like to wait and watch the door for his brother, not knowing if he was going to be coming back from the hunt Dad had dragged him off to.

“Sorry, okay?” Sam forced out, his voice strained with Dean’s weight crushing his lungs. “Get off me, I can’t breathe, you dickhead.”

He could see Dean debating whether or not to let him up before rising to his feet, dragging Sam up with him. Underneath Sam’s annoyance at being jumped the moment he walked into the house, his inner self was rejoicing at the fact that _Dean was touching him_. Dean had hit him, Dean had left his mark across his face that Sam knew would be traced over and over with his fingers as the bruise faded, Dean had tangled his body with Sam’s to take him down to the floor. A smile would be inappropriate at the time being, so Sam stored it away in a little room in his head for later.

“Where were you?” Dean repeated, his tone dark. His attentive eyes were running over Sam’s dishevelled hair, the bright red spots on his cheeks, Sam’s mouth. They stopped there. Sam suddenly couldn't breathe.

“I was-I-Friend’s house, needed help with Math, asked if I could tutor,” Sam stuttered, red peeking up over the collar of his stretched out shirt and up to his ears.

Dean was still staring at Sam’s mouth, his pupils tracing the outline of his lips in one long, slow, calculated drag. Shit.

“Tutoring?” Dean asked evenly, finally bringing his gaze up to meet Sam’s panicked one.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat. Dean’s hand was still gripping the front of his shirt, so Sam pushed at it weakly. “This is one of my favorite shirts, dude. You’re stretching it out.”

Dean’s hand unclasped, fell limply by his side. Socked feet padded against the tiles as Dean shoulder-checked Sam on his way to the kitchen. Caught off-guard yet again, Sam stumbled before turning to watch his brother’s retreating back.

Dean’s voice was a harsh drawl, the words catching over the hairs at the nape of Sam’s neck. “If you’re gonna lie to me, Sammy, at least make it convincing.”

Sam couldn't breathe again. Snatching his bag from where he dropped it, he kicked off his shoes and stormed off, throwing his bag carelessly into his room before escaping into the bathroom, the door rattling in its frame from how hard he slammed it shut. Fumbling with the lock, Sam swore under his breath. His fingers were shaking, out of fear, out of anger, so it took a moment for him to get the lock to catch. It finally did, and he let out a huge gust as breathe as he shoved his hands into his hair and turned to look at himself in the mirror.

Wild eyes stared back at him, pupils dilated. His face was still pink from his blush of shame, nostrils flared in his irritation at his brother. When Sam’s eyes fell to his lips, he let out a low groan, leaning forward to see better. Now he could understand how Dean knew he was lying, or at least only telling a half-truth. There really was no other way to describe Sam’s lips as anything other than fucked out. They were swollen from his multiple “practices”, puffy and red and very, _very_ obviously well worked. The several make out sessions probably didn’t help either. Sam covered his face with his hands, mortified. _Fuck_. Sam could only hope that Dean thought he had been with a girl.

Grabbing his toothbrush, Sam brushed his teeth to get the taste of Luke out of his mouth, more out of precaution than anything else. Apparently Dean had made it his life’s mission to be in Sam’s business now. Slowing his harsh attack on his teeth, Sam stared at his reflection. He really should have called Dean and let him know that he wouldn’t be back right after school. Living the way they do with the crazy things they fight? It wasn’t fair to Dean, who had rightfully been worried shitless about Sam while he had been off sucking dick. Sam choked on the foamy toothpaste as the thought crossed his mind, spitting into the sink. No, it still hadn’t really sunk in. Sam rinsed his mouth, wiping across it with the back of his hand as he unlocked the door.

Dragging his feet on the carpet as he walked into the living room, Sam ducked his head and shoved his hands deep in his pockets. Dean was on the couch, the cushions practically swallowing him whole. He would have looked like a sulking child if not for the beer in his hand. When Dean saw Sam standing off to the side, looking uncertain and embarrassed, he dragged his eyes back to the TV blaring in front of him and took a long drink from his bottle.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said loudly over the rapid gunfire that was spitting out of the TV’s speakers. A quick glance at the screen told him it was some old gangster film. “I should’ve called and let you know I was gonna be late, I just didn’t think-“

“Whatever, Sam.”

The words died on Sam’s tongue, his blood chilling in his veins. “What?”

Dean’s gaze didn’t move from the movie, the black and white images reflecting in the shine of his eyes. More gunfire, shouting, garbled Italian accents. Ignoring Sam, pretending he didn’t exist. Again.

Sparking, biting anger made Sam’s mouth start moving again.

“You’re a real dick, you know that, Dean? You’re giving me fuckin’ whiplash here!” Sam’s arms spread wide, reaching out with his palms up to the ceiling as he leaned forward for emphasis. “You’re practically bipolar! You can’t go from doing everything in your power to ignore and avoid me to suddenly giving a shit out of nowhere! It doesn’t work like that!”

Dean’s face remained impassive, the only movement being his mouth parting to accept the lip of his bottle as he took another long pull, Adam’s apple bobbing. Maniacal laughter from some short, fat guy on the TV.

“Fuck you, Dean,” Sam spit the words out with venom, the very pronunciation of them turning his tongue black. Dean flinched.

Sam spun around and bolted to his room, kicking the door shut. He threw himself face-down on the bed, burying his face in his pillow to let out a muffled scream of fury.

Sam hated his brother. He hated Dean, he fucking _hated_ him.

Sam hated himself more. Even after all of that, even after everything with Luke, all Sam could do was picture Dean’s throat bobbing as he swallowed his beer and ache at the thought of feeling the movement under his lips as he dragged his mouth up that heated column of skin. Sam’s stomach roiled in his gut. God, he was fucked up.

Sam could feel the minutes and hours slipping by, listened to the rattle from the TV go on until it finally fell silent. He made sure to turn his head away from the door so he couldn't see if Dean's shadow paused outside of his room when he was on his way to his own bed. Going out to get something to eat wasn't an option, despite his growing hunger, so he opted instead for falling asleep fully dressed to avoid getting up at all.

The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.

Someone up in the sky must have been listening to Sam’s pleas, because before he knew it, it was Saturday afternoon and he was standing in front of Luke’s door, finger pressing the doorbell. The last few days had been hell, with Sam leaving for school a good two hours earlier than he needed to just to avoid any contact with Dean and coming home right after class to lock himself in his room to do homework. Not exactly a fun routine.

The door opened, startling Sam out of his thoughts. Luke lifted his arm to rest it on the door frame, draping his body in an entirely teasing manner. A smile worked up the corners of Sam’s mouth.

“Hey there,” Luke said, his eyes taking their time as they travelled over Sam’s worn plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark blue jeans. “Shit. You look good enough to eat.” Sam’s face flamed at Luke’s words and the promise that glimmered in the depths of his eyes.

“Hi,” Sam’s voice cracked, and he ducked his head to clear his throat. Luke’s laughter enveloped him at the same time a hand wrapped around one of his own. He allowed himself to be tugged inside and slammed against the back of the door, a gasp escaping his lungs only to be swallowed in a frantic kiss.

“I know we said we were going to hang out here,” Luke said between multiple kisses to Sam’s mouth, each one making Sam’s stomach jump and twist. “But I really want to take you out.” He pulled back now and Sam’s eyes opened to meet a pair of hopeful green ones. “Can I?”

“Like-“ Sam shifted against the door. “Like a date?”

“Like a movie,” Luke snickered, a finger very lightly tracing along Sam’s jaw. The bruise from Dean’s fist had faded to a purplish-yellow color now. When Luke had noticed it the day after Sam got it, Sam just explained that his brother had elbowed him for the remote and quickly changed the subject.

“Movie sounds good,” Sam shrugged, hiding his trembling fingers by shoving them into his front pockets. “We can do that.”

“Great,” Luke grinned. “There’s one starting in a half hour that I wanna see, if that's okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

Luke didn’t try to hold his hand or anything on the walk over, which Sam was grateful for. He even paid for both of their tickets before herding Sam into the back row of the theatre. The movie they were seeing had been out for a few weeks now, so there wasn’t much of a crowd scattered amongst the seats. As Sam settled into his chair, his only thought was of 17 year old Dean whispering in his ear about how he had felt up Lizzie Sanders in the back of the movie theatre while watching Mission: Impossible. Really not the time.

Luke’s lips were on Sam’s neck by the time the credits started rolling, his hand down Sam’s pants by the time the first fifteen minutes were up. Idly in the back of his head, Sam wondered why they even came here when they could have been doing this back at Luke’s place where it was far less public. Sucking the gasps right out of Sam’s mouth with his kisses, Luke finally mumbled, “You wanna get out of here?”, to which Sam replied with some sort of strangled version of “Fuck yes”. As the pair stumbled out of the doors of the theatre, the sky slowly darkening above them, Sam gathered his bearings as he blearily looked around.

“Look, the house I’m staying at, it’s just up the road,” Sam panted as Luke shoved him into the brick at the side of the building, huffing out a laugh as he felt fingers run up over his ribcage. “It’s closer, let’s just go back to mine.”

“Your brother?” Luke mouthed against Sam’s neck.

“Haven’t seen him all day,” Sam replied with some difficulty as Luke attached his lips back over Sam’s. “Out getting shitfaced at the bar for all I know.”

“Okay. Shit, okay, hurry,” Luke conceded and both of them took off at a run, laughing at the other if they stumbled. Before long, the house came into view and Sam and Luke molded into one another once more, neither of them being able to discern which limbs belonged to who as they tripped up to the front door. Sam pressed Luke into the door as he fished his key out of his pocket, noting that all the lights were out inside, and for once, he was glad that luck was finally on his side. As soon as he turned the lock, they were falling inside, a mess of giggles and clattering as they tried to kick off their shoes without letting go of one another. Sam kicked the door shut before leading Luke towards his bedroom, hand reaching blindly behind him to push his door wide open.

“God, Sam,” Luke groaned as Sam shoved him onto his bed, the bed yowling in protest at the combined weight as Sam crawled up the length of Luke’s body, fingers searching over hot, taunt skin as he pushed Luke’s shirt out of his way. It was gone a moment later, his own being tugged over his head less than gracefully. Everything was heat: the heat of Luke’s mouth as Sam’s tongue dove into it, the heat of Luke’s chest beneath his palms as Sam tweaked at his nipples, the heat of Luke’s straining erection rutting against the thigh Sam had shoved between Luke’s legs. Sam was in completely bliss.

“Please, can I-fuck-“ Luke changed their positions, rolling Sam onto his back before slipping down to paw at the crotch of Sam’s pants. “I wasn’t kidding when I said ‘good enough to eat’.” The suggestive tone in Luke’s voice made Sam’s head shoot up from his pillow to look at Luke’s face. In the darkness of his room, lit only by a faint trickle of moonlight that hadn’t quite risen to its zenith, Sam could just make out the question in Luke’s blown out pupils. “I wanna make you feel good, Sam. Please.”

Before he could really think about it, before he could really let himself realize exactly where this was going to go, Sam was saying yes, lifting his hips to help Luke shimmy off his briefs and jeans in one go. Completely naked on top of his duvet, Sam’s face burned under the devouring gaze that ran from his chest down to his fast growing erection.

“God, am I glad you moved here,” Luke was growling against the inside of Sam’s thighs that were trembling in his grasp, fingers digging harshly into his muscles as he pushed them apart. Sam reached down to tangle his hand in Luke’s short hair, a whimper breaching his lips as Luke then folded both of Sam’s legs back onto his chest to completely expose his ass. Whatever else Luke said was lost when Sam felt a slick finger circling a place no one else had ever touched. He whimpered at the sensation, his entire body shivering with waves of hot sparks, right before Luke eased in his digit into Sam’s tight hole, resulting in Sam’s choked yelp.

“Shh, shh, I’ve got you, just relax.” The words reached Sam’s ears, an echo of a familiar voice Sam had heard often enough after getting hurt on a hunt, so he clenched his teeth and forced his muscles to loosen, earning him praise as Luke's finger started sliding in and out of him more diligently.

He was just getting used to the rhythm, working his hips down to search for more, more, more of something, more of anything to help release some of the tension building inside of him, when Luke’s tongue, his fucking _tongue_ pressed flat against Sam’s hole. The keen that burst from Sam’s throat should have been embarrassing, but he couldn’t care less because he had some guy’s tongue in his ass, fucking in and out and working him open with flicks and thrusts, and _fuck_ , he’d be lying if he said this was anything less than fantastic. Sam swore he was going to black out when Luke added two fingers to join his mouth at Sam's rim, pushing them in and crooking them up just so until they brushed a spot that made his eyes roll back into his head at the shock waves of pleasure that smothered his entire body.

“So good,” Sam heard Luke pant, his spit-slick mouth dragging up Sam’s leaking cock, up over his chest and cheek to practically moan the praises against Sam’s lips. “You taste fucking incredible, can’t wait to bury my dick inside that sweet ass of yours. God, Sam, can I-“

“Stop asking and just fucking do it,” Sam growled, wrapping his legs around Luke’s back to yank him forward, his hands desperate in their search over Luke's shoulders, neck, chest. Luke laughed in his ear, nipping down the length of Sam’s throat to work little whines out of him.

“Bossy, bossy.” Luke tsk’ed, reaching back to pull two items from his back pocket and onto the bed beside Sam’s hip. He rolled his head on his pillow to see a foil packet and a small container of lube. Huh.

“Why are your pants still on?” Sam asked through clenched teeth as Luke shoved the waistband of his jeans and underwear just far enough to pull his cock out before starting to fumble with the condom.

“Couldn’t give less of a shit right now,” Luke admitted breathlessly, rolling the rubber on. “Just wanna be inside you.” Luke lifted Sam’s legs to drape over his shoulders, bending himself forward so Sam’s knees nearly brushed his cheekbones. He couldn't help but tense up at the feeling of Luke’s dick brushing against his hole. Sam closed his eyes. This was really about to happen. “You ready?”

Before Sam ever got the chance to answer, the body that had been supporting Sam’s legs completely disappeared, leaving his lower half to thump down onto the mattress without something to prop him up. Eyes flying open, Sam sat up just in time to see Dean, _Dean_ , throwing Luke into the wall face-first, his hand tight on the back of Luke’s head to smash his cheek into the ratty wallpaper.

“What the fuck? _DEAN_!” Sam yelled, reaching down to grab his underwear and yank them on just as Dean shouted, “Who the _fuck_ are you and what the fuck do you think you’re doin’ touching my brother?” Dean spun Luke around, getting two solid punches in before Sam caught his arm and wrenched Dean away, putting himself between the two guys.

“Are you fucking _insane_?” Sam screamed, hands on Dean’s chest as he tried to surge forward to hit Luke again. He put every ounce of strength he had into jostling Dean back step by step to give Luke room to get out. And get out he did, pulling his pants up with a steady stream of curse words, shirt forgotten as he tore out of the house, the slam of the front door echoing harshly in Sam's ears.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him-“ Dean was rage embodied, a vibrating bundle of rage that barely saw Sam in his mission to pulverize Luke into an unrecognizable lump of a person. His eyes were wild, only focused on Sam's doorway as he continued to struggle against Sam to try and follow Luke.

Mashing his teeth together, Sam gave Dean one final, hard shove backwards.

“I’m going to kill _you_ , Dean. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Sam’s chest was heaving up and down, his entire body shaking in shock and anger. Dean finally stopped trying to push his way past Sam, his blazing eyes meeting Sam’s furious ones. It was all Sam could do to fight against the bile rising in his throat. This couldn’t be happening.

“He was-“ Dean’s gaze burned its way down Sam’s practically naked body before lighting back on his eyes. “He was gonna-“

“Yeah, Dean, that’s usually what happens when two consenting people have sex!” Sam snarled, his hands uncurling to propel Dean a couple more steps backwards because God damn it, he _hated_ Dean, and the only way he could say it best was by hitting his stupid, _stupid_ big brother.

Dean’s face twisted at Sam’s words, looking almost pained as he batted away Sam’s arms that were reaching forward for another shove.

“Don’t say that.”

If Sam didn’t know better, he would say that the tone of voice Dean was using was pleading. But no, Dean had done it now, he’d lit the fuse and Sam was off, throwing his weight forward to press his forearm just under Dean’s throat to back him into the wall next to the window.

“Say what?” Sam taunted, malice dripping off his tongue, burning holes in his throat. “ _Sex_? What, you don’t like being the only one in the house who has sex, Dean? Baby brother too grown up for you now?”

Dean muscled his way out from under Sam’s arm, getting enough of a grip on him to twist it behind Sam’s back as he started to walk them back towards the bedroom door, both of them tripping over their feet in their scuffle.

“I don’t care if you have sex, Sam!” Dean snapped back, giving Sam a hard shove until his back connected with the wall where Luke had been just a minute before.

“Then what, Dean? What _possible_ reason do you have for bursting into my room and pulling that guy off me?” Sam’s throat was hoarse and burning.

Dean's face was red, Sam could see that much even in the darkness of his room, and his eyes were wild. “I don’t care if you have sex, you just-you can’t, not with-“

“Not with a guy?” Sam spit out, eyebrows shooting up to disappear under his sweaty bangs. “Is that what you were about to say? I can’t have sex with a _guy_?”

The look on Dean’s face was answer enough. Sam burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. It was uncontrollable, verging on hysteria, his laughter clawing its way viciously out of his throat to spill into the air between him and his brother.

“Sam, shut up.”

He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs because he was doubling over now and holding his stomach, laughing so hard that he was certain he was going to vomit.

“Sam, I swear to God-“

“Oh my God.” Sam straightened up to lean back against the wall, his maniacal laughter tapering off into heavy, panting breaths. Sam couldn’t take his eyes off of Dean’s, couldn’t move from all of the hurt, all of the anger that was pooling in those circles of green. “You’re insane. Actually insane. You can’t control every aspect of my life, Dean!” Sam spread his arms wide, just like during their last fight. “As much as you and Dad try, you’re not gonna keep me under your thumb and force me to-“

“That’s what you think this is?” Dean interrupted, his jaw clenched tight as he slammed his hand next to Sam’s head hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster. He was close now, too close, crowding Sam back against the wall. “Me trying to _control_ you?”

“Don’t know what else it could be other than that,” Sam shrugged defiantly, his jaw clenching.

Dean let out a colorful stream of swear words, his head dropping to stare down at his feet. Sam’s chest rose and fell with harsh breaths, his entire body buzzing with adrenaline, ready for a fist fight or something else, anything else to happen.

Sam practically jumped out of his skin when he felt fingers skim up his ribs, a gasp catching in his throat as he looked down to see his brother's hand slipping along his skin, goosebumps trailing in the wake of his touch. Dean lifted his head and every last ounce of oxygen left Sam’s body at the sight of pure, unbridled pain leaking from his brother’s eyes.

“I’m fucked up, Sammy,” Dean croaked out, every terrifyingly vulnerable emotion plain on his face as his palm trembled over the skin hugging Sam’s ribcage. 

Cool, sick relief flooded Sam's chest, ebbing away the swirling heat that had been threatening to send him up in flames. This was it. This was what he needed, what he had been waiting for from Dean for all these months.

“You’re fucked up?” Sam huffed out a laugh, no longer paying attention as his hands drifted to Dean’s hips, fingers slipping carefully into his belt loops to anchor himself. “You obviously haven’t spent a moment in my head over the past few years, then.”

The air between them changed, getting thick with tension at the same time that Dean's face fell to one of utter defeat instead of understanding like Sam had been praying for.

“I corrupted you.” The words were tumbling out of Dean’s mouth, each one dripping in self-loathing and disgust, and it punched the very air out of Sam's chest, nearly cracking his ribs with the force of it. “I-I did this, whatever’s between us. I never should have kissed you back then, Sammy. I should’ve been protecting you. Even against myself.” Dean’s confession hung suspended between them, loaded syllables that stopped Sam’s very blood in his veins.

“C-“ The single word rolled off Sam’s tongue in disbelief. “ _Corrupted_ me?”

There was no mistaking that Dean truly believed everything he was saying. His face was tragically open and raw, every emotion scrawled into the lines on his forehead and in the corner of his eyes, and Sam could truly feel his heart crumble to dust in his chest.

“Dean, you didn’t do _anything_ to me!” Sam’s hands flew to clasp Dean’s face between them, forcing his brother to meet his frantic eyes. No. There’s no way Dean could really think he did this, that this was his fault and he had somehow polluted Sam when Sam had felt this way for most of his life. _No._  

But it was as if Dean couldn't hear him, his face falling even further as he continued to mumble out more words to spear Sam's heart. “You’ve always listened to me, never have been able to say no-“ It was an endless admittance of guilt and each one hit Sam like a tidal wave.

“Dean, _stop_ , please, listen to me-“

“I fucked up my baby brother.” Dean’s eyes were sightless now, roaming the wall beside Sam’s head as if searching for absolution.

“I’m _in love_ with you, Dean!” Sam shouted, shaking Dean’s head as hard as he could. The hopeless eyes shot to his, something finally clicking as they flared back to life, shiny and wide and confused. “I have been for six years, and for all I know, since I was born. So don’t you put this on yourself. God, please don’t.” Sam’s hands were white with the force he was gripping Dean’s face, tears slipping down his cheeks as he watched his brother’s mouth slacken in shock.

“Sammy.” Dean's soft nickname fluttered down Sam’s spine, releasing the painful knot in his throat with only five letters. He tipped his head down, pressing his forehead to Dean’s as both of them drew in hot, ragged breaths. Every inch of Sam’s body was straining towards Dean, seeking to press up against the warmth of his body like it was the place he belonged, trembling even from the few inches of space that separated them. Dean’s hand slid down the wall by Sam’s head, grasped Sam’s shoulder, and this was it, he was finally going to feel the right hands, the right mouth against his. Sam craned his neck forward, seeking Dean’s lips to alleviate the crushing pain in his chest.

“We can’t.”

Two words dropped like lead weights into Sam’s ears. Unable to stop the choked noise of pain that fought its way out of his throat, Sam drew back, a fresh wave of heat searing the backs of his eyes as they tried to meet Dean’s. But the circles of green that Sam so desperately sought to find were on the floor, looking away, avoiding him.

“Dean?” His plea was pathetic, begging.

“We can’t do this, Sam,” Dean’s hands were prying Sam’s away from his face, shoving them back into Sam’s chest. “It’s not right.”

The uncontrollable anger was back, whiting out the edges of his vision as everything came tumbling out of Sam’s mouth.

“This doesn’t feel right to you?” His hands were on Dean again, dragging down his back, up his chest and over his cheeks, running through his hair as Sam crushed their mouths together hard enough to bruise, his tears wetting his way to aid with the desperate slide of lip against lip. “This is wrong to you?” he asked as their mouths dragged and caught, but Dean didn't give anything back. He didn't budge. He could have been a stone statue, immobile and hard and completely unforgiving despite Sam's frantic attempts to get him to respond. “ _Dean_.” Sam begged, pulling back as more tears slipped down his jaw, trailing down the side of his neck.

“Let go, Sam.”

Sam truly thought he wouldn’t be able to, thought he had fused his hands to Dean’s body, never to be removed, except suddenly they were in his own hair, springing from Dean’s skin like he had been burned. The wall was the only thing upright in Sam’s world as he pressed himself against it for support. Hammers and anvils clanged in his ears as he watched Dean step away from him, and by then it was too much. Knees giving out, Sam slid down the wall to crumple on the floor, his hands hiding his face, fingers trembling uncontrollably against his skin.

He knew Dean was still talking, still throwing every excuse in the book down at Sam to make himself feel better for crushing his little brother’s heart between his fists. “Incest” bit into his hearing, making him flinch, shortly followed by, “What would Dad think”, and that’s when Sam’s stomach clenched, forcing the measly contents up his throat. Sam lashed out, scrambling to his feet to launch himself out to the hall and into the bathroom, barely getting the toilet seat up in time. Sam heaved over the bowl, the acid from his stomach burning up his throat and out of his mouth.

This was hell.

“Sam? Sam!” Dean fell to his knees beside him, his hand was on Sam’s bare back, too soft and soothing to have any place in the world that was crumbling down around him. He convulsed, writhing to get away from Dean’s touch.

“Get-“ Sam hunched over the toilet again, gagging. Just bile this time. “Get away from me.”

Sympathy and concern laced Dean’s next sentence. “Sam, please, let me help-“

“I SAID GET AWAY FROM ME!” The scream that scraped out of Sam’s ruined throat surprised even him, rattling every bone in his body to leave him shuddering after it died in the air between the two of them.

Dean didn’t make another sound except to rise to his feet and leave the bathroom. Sam’s body seized again, the porcelain seat cold against his naked thighs and chest, but nothing left Sam’s throat except a sob, his tears hitting the bile-tinged toilet water in soft plops.

Dean didn’t touch or speak to him again until John came back.

On his last day at school, Sam stopped by the guidance counsellor’s office, thanking her as she handed him the packet of college applications he had asked her for. Stanford was at the top of the pile.


	5. Twenty

Sam was twenty when he got into his first serious relationship.

He always had the option as he grew up to have a girlfriend, and once or twice a possible boyfriend, but most of the time he was too wrapped up in everything Dean or being yanked from each new home by his dad to ever make some sort of commitment like that.

But Sam was at Stanford now. Sam had settled in, had a routine, had a roof over his head that he knew wouldn’t be gone in a week if he was lucky. Sam had a home. And now that he didn’t have to worry about any erratic moves from place to place at his dad’s barking orders, he could focus on other things in his life. Like the fact that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of a curly haired blonde that was flitting around the bar like a sensuous fairy, all soft curves and dimpled smiles and boisterous laughs.

It just took a moment of courage and a stuttering introduction to get her to agree to go on a date with him and the rest was history. 

Jess was everything Sam needed.

She was home, always welcoming him back from class with a kiss interrupted by her giggles and preparing various baked goods until their shared apartment’s kitchen was more pastries than counter tops.

She was love, slow and gentle and steady like the embers after a fire dies down, a smolder that soaked his bones in a comfort he wasn’t used to having.

She was everything Sam needed.

She just wasn’t what Sam wanted.

She wasn’t grave dirt smudged under fingernails and low curses as Sam bandaged up wounds. She wasn’t the smell of gun oil and the low rumbling laugh that shook his soul to its very core.

She wasn’t hot, licking fire, eating away at the oxygen in his veins, swallowing up every pull of air from his lungs in heated desperation just from a shoulder brushing against his.

But we aren’t always meant to have what we want, are we?

So Sam settled into his routine with Jess. Classes, kisses, home cooked meals, day trips on Saturdays and lazy drunken Sundays.

Sam was doing alright. He was finally able to wake up without two calloused hands reaching into his chest to twist the ever-loving shit out of his heart.

Then Dean had to come and remind Sam that neither of them had ever really been able to breathe without the other one around.

It was just after his last class of the day on a Friday. Sam was stepping out of his Lit class, laughing at something Brady was saying before he casually scanned the hall in front of him as he always did, not really looking for anything, just a sweep of his gaze before moving on. As it was, Sam’s eyes almost skipped over the figure draped against the opposite wall in a leather jacket he was undoubtedly sweating in from the California heat. Keyword: almost. Of course, Sam’s eyes caught on his brother’s body like a fishhook in the mouth and yanked his turning head back for a double take. A strangled noise caught low in his throat as he realized just who it was standing across from him, his feet skidding to a halt in the middle of the doorway.

“Hey, man, what’s the hold up?” Brady complained, shouldering Sam forward so other students could move past Sam’s bulk. Sam let himself be nudged out of the way of the stream of college kids, which really ended up with him being forced closer to the first and last person he ever wanted to see again. Dean’s eyes were on his, searing green rings into Sam’s vision.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” The words snapped like a rubber band from Sam’s mouth and were hanging in the air before he could think twice. His entire body was vibrating as Dean pushed himself off the wall and closed the distance between them, a foot or two separating the toes of their boots.

“Nice to see you too, Sammy,” Dean replied, his voice low and rough as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. His eyes still hadn’t left Sam’s. By now, Sam heard Brady excuse himself awkwardly and move away. Smart kid.

Meanwhile, all Sam could feel was the blood roaring in his ears before it all dropped to his feet, leaving him light-headed and nauseous. Sam tore his eyes from Dean’s, palming his face to wipe away the sweat building on his forehead then shoving his hand into his floppy hair. He tracked the bustling student body around him and tried to swallow the knot that was building painfully in his throat.

After forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, Sam finally looked back at his brother to take him all in. It physically hurt to look at him. Still shorter than Sam but built just as strong as he remembered, Dean’s hair was a little unkempt and he had a few day’s worth of scruff dusting his jaw. Purple half-moons nestled beneath Dean’s bright eyes, marking him as a man who had forgotten the concept of sleep. Dean kept fidgeting, rocking forward slightly onto his toes before deciding to rest back on his heels.

“You look like shit,” Sam croaked, adjusting his bag on his shoulder.

Dean threw him an easy glare. “Fuck you.”

Wish you would, Sam wanted to say.

“What are you doing here, Dean?” Sam actually said instead.

“What, I can’t stop by and see my little brother?” Dean opened his arms wide. Sam didn’t miss how he put emphasis on the last two words.

Sam swallowed again to force down the bile that had started to rise at the memory of Dean’s biting “ _What would Dad think?_ ” all those months ago.

“No.”

“Sam,” Dean sounded tired and desperate, his arms falling back down by his sides, fingers twitching like he was holding back from reaching for Sam. Or maybe that was just Sam's imagination going haywire, all his neurons failing to fire because he still can't believe Dean is here, standing right in front of him, still speaking. “C’mon man, let’s – can we go somewhere? Talk?”

_We can’t do this, Sam._

_It’s not right._

“You should go, Dean,” Sam managed to say with what little oxygen he had left in his lungs before making himself turn away. He strode out the front doors, inhaling the air outside with the gasping breaths of a dying man. And he was. Dying. It was killing him to walk away from the one thing he wanted most.

Sam made it back to his apartment, scooting past Jess just fast enough to make it to the toilet bowl before he retched up what he had for lunch. Jess was freaking out, running around grabbing Pepto Bismol and starting up broth and rubbing Sam’s back with gentle, gentle hands, all of which just made Sam’s stomach heave harder. Eventually, he got her to calm down, promising it was just food poisoning or something. The lie rolled off his tongue too easily. Old habits die hard.

Jess fussed over him anyway, forcing him to lay down on the couch as she got his soup ready for him, placing it on the coffee table right next to Sam’s head.

“I’m gonna run to the store and get some things that will help your stomach, okay? I got food poisoning last year and it was fucking brutal, so just sit tight.” Jess leaned down to peck a kiss on the top of Sam’s head before pulling her purse over her shoulder. “Be back soon, babe.”

“’Kay,” Sam rasped, draping his arm over his eyes as he let himself relax down into the couch. The TV was on, whatever show was playing turned down to a low volume.

The door opened again only a minute later, and Sam blew out a weak laugh.

“Forget your car keys again?”

The hand that grabbed Sam’s wrist was too big to be Jessica’s.

Alarm shot through his veins as Sam jerked his body to sit up as fast as possible, only to have a knee and elbow force him right back down into the cushions. Dean’s scowling face hovered above Sam’s and it was all Sam could do to not burst into tears at the wave of emotions that rocked through him at the sight of his brother for the second time in the same day.

“Get off me!” Sam gasped, squeezing his eyes shut. It was almost ironic. He would've thought that having Dean’s hands on him again after so long would feel like coming home, like finally falling into the place that he was meant to be. But the words Dean had polluted Sam’s thoughts with from that night were eating into his skin, along with Dean’s fingernails as he caught Sam’s flailing fist to pin it against the arm of the couch. Sam bucked and kicked, fighting to get Dean off, get him _the fuck off_ before his lungs crawled out of his throat and his heart gave out. In the back of his mind, he knew that if he just calmed down and focused, he could get free, but Sam was frantic and still reeling, unable to fit two thoughts together long enough to see any type of reason.

A sharp grunt left Dean as Sam's knee connected with his ribcage, and there was a flurry of moment that resulted in Dean practically sitting on his stomach to stop his struggles and Dean yelling, “Christ, Sam, will you stop and _listen_ to me?!”

Every muscle in Sam's body listened, going limp at his brother's command in a way that made Sam curse himself in his head. Two years later and Sam was still ready to do almost anything Dean asked. Half out of mortification and half out of trying to hold onto the last shreds of his sanity, Sam kept his eyes closed but let his mouth fall open to drag much needed breaths into his chest.

Sam ignored the tremble in his voice when he said, “Let me go, Dean.”

“Agree to talk to me and I’ll think about it.”

Sam fought down a gag as his stomach clenched at the same time Dean’s hands tightened on Sam’s arms, which were still pinned by Dean's burning palms.

“Why are you here?” It was a broken whisper leaving defeated lips.

“Look at me.”

Sam rolled his head left and right. No.

Dean’s voice dropped lower, rougher, more demanding.

“Look at me, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes opened sluggishly to find thin rings of green around the blown black pupils that haunted his dreams. Sam watched as Dean’s face slackened and he could feel Dean's grip loosen before sliding away from where his hands had captured Sam’s. The look on his face was nothing short of relief, and Sam couldn't figure out what to make of that. It was as if Sam and Dean’s eyes meeting was exactly what Dean needed to be able to take his next breath of air.

Dean shoved his hand in his hair, grasping the strands as his eyes danced between both of Sam’s. “Meet me at this bar tonight. Okay? It’s near the motel I’m at–“ Dean cut himself off abruptly, looking away like he had said too much.

“Motel?” Sam shoved Dean off of him so he could fully sit up, staring at his brother incredulously from where he was now perched on the edge of the cushions. “You were planning to stay long enough to get a fucking _motel_?”

Dean stood up, eyes on the floor like it was the most fascinating thing on the planet.

“Just meet me tonight, Sam.”

“Go fuck yourself, Dean.”

Even as the front door slammed shut behind his brother, Sam knew he would be there, because apparently getting the shit kicked out of him emotionally two years ago wasn’t enough for him.

Jess was back twenty minutes later, bustling to unpack the groceries and check on Sam, who was flat on his back on the couch again. She didn’t stir once in her bed later that night when he slipped out of the apartment. She was the vision of a blonde-haired angel, asleep under the covers, right where Sam should be pressed up next to her. Instead he was on his way to have his heart ripped out of his body once again. Sam wondered idly if he was a masochist.

It was near midnight and misting rain by the time Sam pushed open the heavy door to the bar he knew Dean would be at, because it was the only one in the area that was close to the ones they used to frequent when they were on the road with John. Sam sighed harshly through his nose and ran his hand through his hair to disperse the water accumulating in the strands. Even before looking to see if his brother was even there, Sam beelined it to the bar, ordering three shots and two fingers of whiskey. Throwing them back in impressive time, much to the surprise of the bartender, Sam let out a hiss as he set down the last shot glass. Turning, he finally scanned the crowded floor. His eyes were automatically drawn to the corner booth across the room where his brother was just standing up, as if to greet Sam. Not caring that he was shouldering past some pretty intimidating guys who voiced their displeasure audibly, Sam moved through the crowd to get to Dean, watching his face fall from slightly hopeful to hesitant and unsure.

“You have five minutes,” Sam growled as he body-checked Dean on his way onto the booth seat. The contact sent a thrill of pleasure through his bones as Dean stumbled back slightly. Dean caught himself before moving silently to the seat opposite Sam, pushing his own glass of whiskey back and forth between his hands. Crossing his arms, Sam leaned back, his insides twisting up together in a tangle of knots as half of him tried to strain forward to breathe Dean’s air and the other half pulled back, not wanting to be an inch closer to his brother than absolutely necessary.

“How have you been?” were Dean’s first words of the night, his eyes flickering up to Sam’s impassive face.

“Cut the shit, Dean. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Jesus Christ, Sam!” Dean snapped, his uncharacteristically crestfallen face flipping to one of pure annoyance, and finally, Sam felt like he _recognized_ him. “I want to know how the fuck you’ve been! I haven’t seen you for fucking years-“

“And whose fault would that be?”

“ _Yours_ , if my high school dropout brain can remember correctly,” Dean shot back. “’Cause I sure as hell wasn’t the one who brought the Stanford package home and abandoned my family.”

The words delivered three quick blows to Sam’s stomach, forcing him to bend forward and rest his arm on the sticky table in front of him to catch his breath. Looking up with ice in his gaze, he replied, “I wonder what the reason was that I couldn’t stay? Could have something to do with the fact that I was in love with my big brother whose only concern was what the fuck our dad would think about it.”

Dean’s mouth parted in surprise before thinning out into a line as he mashed his lips together, flint sparking in his irises.

“So I’m gonna ask again, Dean. What are you doing here?”

Dean set his jaw and turned to stare at the wall, his fingers drumming against the wood. Sam couldn’t help but let his eyes drag across the planes of Dean’s cheeks, catching once more on the dark marks beneath his bottom eyelashes that marred his otherwise breathtaking face.

Sam couldn’t help himself. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

Dean looked at Sam from the corner of his eye.

“That a statement or a question?”

Sam didn’t respond.

“I-“ Dean’s voice cracked on the word, so he cleared his throat once, twice. Picked at something on the table. He’s nervous, Sam realized belatedly. “I needed to see you.” The words are quiet, quiet enough that Sam is leaning even further over the table so his heart can reach out and pluck them from the air before they disappear.

“Why, Dean?”

Dean wouldn’t meet his eyes. Sam could feel the table jiggling beneath his arms as Dean’s leg bounced up and down with his anxiety.

“Wanted to see how school’s been.” The lie was flat, way too obvious as it fell from Dean’s tongue. It slit little paper cuts into Sam’s skin until he started to unravel. Shoving backwards and to the side so he could get out of the booth, Sam stood up, hands balled into fists at his side as he struggled to keep himself in check.

“I don’t have time for this, Dean. Not for you tip-toeing the fuck around whatever it is you want to say. Jesus _Christ_ , Dean. Just go back on another fucking hunt and leave me alone to live my life. To _move on_. Stop fucking around with me and just _go_!”

Seething, Sam stormed out of the bar and back into the misting rain, rubbing his hands over his face as he turned and started to walk down the street. His legs were trembling with his anger and his heart was clawing through his spine trying to go back and just cradle Dean’s sad, sad fucking face and tell him how happy he is to see Dean and how much he’s missed him but _no_. Sam’s got a fucking life now. Sam had Jess. Sam had stability. Sam had time to work up to loving Jess in the way she deserves to be loved. Sam - was being grabbed by the back of his shirt and dragged into the darkened alley behind the bar with one half burnt-out lamppost and shoved into the wet bricks with no trace of gentleness. It was Dean, chest heaving and fingers trembling as his hand fisted in the front of Sam's shirt, twisting hard enough so that the collar bit into the back of his neck viciously.

“You wanna know why I’m here, Sam?” Dean hissed through bared teeth, shaking Sam in his grip. His head knocked off the brick and he winced, struggling to find Dean’s eyes in the deep shadows being thrown across his features. “I don’t fucking _know_ why! What I do know is that I haven’t slept a full night since the day you fucking left. I know that I can’t get through half a day without a bottle of whiskey and I know that I shouldn’t be hunting because I’m fucking _useless_. I practically get myself killed on salt and burns, let alone anything bigger.” Dean brought his other hand up to clutch his chest beneath his jacket, just above the amulet that swung from his neck with the force of him spilling his guts into Sam’s ears. “I know I can barely breathe on a good day and that I’ve wanted to drive up here every fucking day for the past two years, but I couldn’t, fucking _couldn’t_. And now I finally did, three days of driving across this goddamned country and no fucking sleep, and the moment I saw you walk out of that fucking classroom, it felt like I took my first breath in two fucking years. I couldn’t _breathe_ for seven hundred and thirty fucking days, and then I see your stupid mug laughing at some prick’s joke and suddenly my lungs decide to start working again. So yeah, I got a fucking motel here, because I forgot what it was like to not have to remind my body to pull air in and out when it should be doing it by itself all because _you_ -“ Dean slammed his hand, palm open, against the brick next to Sam’s head. “-had to fucking _leave_.”

Dean was panting by the end of it, his fingers shaking against Sam’s chest where he had clenched them in the material. Sam knew Dean could feel his heart pounding through his ribcage, and he wondered how it could be doing that while simultaneously trying to crawl out of his throat. Sam’s collar relaxed against his neck, not being strained against his skin anymore as Dean let his fist open to instead trail his fingers across Sam’s collarbone. That's when everything spiralled down to the feel of Dean’s fingertips bumping over shirt and skin and bone, making Sam’s eyes roll back into his head because fuck, _fuck_ , Dean was here. Dean was here and he was touching him and it felt _right_.

“I fucking miss you, Sammy.” Dean sounded like he did as a teenager, high and uncertain, his voice cracking on the pleading admission. “Come back.”

Something snapped, throwing Sam out of his short-lived bliss and back to the boiling point he had hit earlier in the bar. His hands flew up to grasp Dean’s shoulders and he threw all of his weight into shoving his brother off of him. Dean actually gasped, caught off guard as he lurched backwards and fell onto his back on the wet pavement, shock written all over his face.

“Come back?” The heating rush of belated rage flew through his veins as he closed in on Dean, wrenching him up from the ground to spit the words into his older brother’s face. “Come _back_? Back to what? To hunts where we risk our lives every fucking day for no one to ever know that _we_ are the reason they get to live their mundane lives for decades to come? To us moving every two fucking weeks because _Dad_ says so? To being so fucking in love with you that I can barely stand to look at you, but I have to learn how to hide it all and shove it back into my fucked up little head because God _forbid_ our father finds out his youngest son is a sick bastard?” Sam shoved Dean’s chest again, making him stumble, but his body decided without consulting him that it wasn’t enough, so he could only watch as his knuckles flew forward to crack Dean across the jaw. “ _Fuck you_ , Dean!” Sam was screaming, his voice hoarse as it tore from his throat. “Fuck you for coming back when I was just starting to learn how to live without you!”

Dean’s fist exploded against his cheek, sending him sprawling back into the wall. Ducking the second blow, Sam let out a grunt as he tackled Dean’s torso, driving him back down into the concrete. It was a hurricane of nails tearing and knuckles bruising and elbows and knees and curses until Sam found himself underneath Dean, his head and arms scraping painfully on the gravel as Dean pinned Sam’s hands to the ground above his shoulders. Both of them were panting, anger pulsing off their bodies in red waves.

He couldn't help but flinch as Dean leaned forward, expecting his brother to carve his heart out of his chest with his words, telling Sam that he never should have come here, never missed him in the first place, just wanted to see if Sam was still stupidly in love with him. But instead, Dean pressed his open mouth to Sam’s left cheek, hot air following Dean’s lips as they trailed up his jaw. Sam screwed his eyes shut, his heart beating impossibly faster as Dean’s tongue brushed against his chin as he made his way from one side of Sam’s face to the other, like he just needed to feel Sam against his lips, some kind of fucked up reassurance that they were both right here.

Sam was suffocating, his brother draped over his body in one long line of heat and cologne and leather, and the amulet, that damn fucking amulet, was nudging up Sam’s chest to rest in the hollow of Sam’s throat. A shudder crawled through Sam’s nerves when Dean shifted forward, his leg falling between both of Sam’s to press up just enough to work a grunt out of Sam's gritted teeth. It was too much. Sam strained to free his arms from Dean’s grip, but Dean only shoved down harder, his fingers cutting off the circulation to Sam’s wrist in a tight circle around the delicate bones.

“Dean, stop.”

Dean didn’t stop. Instead, he rocked forward, pressing into Sam’s hip and groin with his lower half, a gust of air carrying a low moan along Sam’s jaw. The amulet was growing heavier, burying itself into Sam’s throat, choking off his airway. He couldn’t breathe.

“Dean-“ Sam’s gasp was cut short when Dean’s mouth moved up to hover over his. He just barely skimmed the thin layer of Sam’s mouth, both of their lips parted to push out anxious air that was drowning their lungs. The world stopped and they just shared breaths for a moment, Sam getting dizzy from inhaling Dean and feeling his body against his after living so long without him. Then the world started turning again and he had to break the spell. Crushing his head back against the gravel, Sam turned away and tucked his head into his shoulder, biting at the cotton of his shirt to stop himself from trying to move back up to capture Dean’s mouth with his. He forced the words off his tongue, the demand getting muffled slightly by the material in his mouth. “Get off me now, Dean.”

He was gone in a second, up and standing several feet back, as if he hadn’t just been lying on top of his little brother, breathing Sam’s air. Sam took a moment to scramble to his feet. The second he stood upright, the bruises and cuts and scrapes that riddled his body from their fight all began burning at once. How silly of him to forget that Dean’s touch had always kept pain at bay.

“You can’t do this. I have Jess, I have-“ Sam swallowed thickly, the warning pressure of tears started to build behind his eyes. “I have something here, Dean. You can’t do this. You can’t fuck me up like this. You can’t use the feelings I have for you to manipulate me back into your life. Do you even know how fucked up that is?”

“Sam, that isn’t-“

“Just go, Dean.” They’re the second most difficult words Sam had ever had to say, right after him telling Dean that he was leaving as he tossed his acceptance letter into his brother’s lap all those years ago.

Dean’s face went completely blank, his shoulders rolling back as his spine snapped soldier-straight. Sam could see his jaw working in the dim light of the lamppost behind him.

“Yeah.” It rasped out of Dean’s throat as his eyes cut into Sam’s like shards of glass, effectively carving a hole right in the center of Sam's soul. “This was a mistake.”

Sam bit back a whimper of pain but couldn’t stop himself from bringing a hand up to grasp at his chest in an attempt to soften the blow that Dean's words had on him.

This time, Sam got to watch his brother’s back walk away from him. When he sobbed in the shower at his and Jess’s apartment half an hour later, he realized that he was probably never going to see Dean again.


	6. Twenty Two

Sam was twenty two when his life fundamentally changed.

It had been over two years since Sam had last seen his brother and he was doing well enough. The word “family” was nothing more than a shrug of a shoulder for Sam at that point. Only Jess really knew about Sam’s brother and absentee father, and what knowledge she did possess was very little. She didn’t pry, as much as Sam could see she wanted to. He was thankful for that. Sam loved her now. A different kind of love than he ever felt for Dean, but it was love nonetheless.

Halloween had never been Sam’s favorite holiday, even spending it with Jess and friends dressed in their silly costumes. It struck a chord of familiarity in Sam’s chest that he would really rather ignore with the rest of his dark past. On top of that, it made him think of Dean. Sam tried to avoid doing _that_ as much as possible. But Dean was there, all day and all night, a niggling finger in the back of Sam’s mind that wouldn’t fade away. Half of Sam wished he could drown his brain in bleach and burn away every last thought of his brother and half of him wished he could see Dean, breathe in his scent of warmth and leather, get lost again in the pools of green.

It was the latter of Sam’s wishes that ended up coming true that very night. Of course, Dean had to make his grand entrance by breaking into Sam and Jess’s apartment only to proceed to tell Sam’s girlfriend in their first face-to-face interaction that Jess was out of Sam’s league. As if he didn’t know that already.

But, okay, John was missing. And Dean seemed to think there was something more to it than just a regular hunting trip, genuine concern woven into the faux-casual mask he wore in front of Jessica. So Sam packed his shit, throwing in his clothes and weapons and throwing out his feelings of relief that Dean was actually here, because he wasn’t here for Sam, he was here for Dad, that’s all. But seriously, the last interaction that Sam and Dean shared ended with a pretty clearly stated, “Get the fuck out of my life”. Sam couldn’t help but be a little happy that Dean was actually willing to come back into his again.

On they went, falling back together like two gears in a well-oiled machine. The research, the banter, the complaints about music selection, all of it came sweeping back almost too easily. As if they had never been apart. Sam didn’t point out the deep set rings under Dean’s eyes that seemed permanently etched into the soft skin under his bottom lashes and Dean didn’t comment on the way Sam’s gaze would linger on him for a heartbeat too long. Neither of them spoke about the last time they had seen one another either. It was there, a low, crackling energy that hummed in the silences that sometimes flooded the front seat of the Impala, but they never talked about it.

Sam almost did when he was climbing out of the car back in Palo Alto with Dean staring sullenly ahead through the windshield. He almost brought it up to promise that he really did have that interview on Monday, he really did need to hand the reins back over to Dean, that it wasn’t some made up excuse to avoid Dean because of what happened that night in the alley and because of what Sam had said, telling Dean to get out of his life so he could move on. Because, yeah, Sam was still stupidly in love with him. Not that Dean needed to know that Sam was just as fucked up as the last time they’d seen each other. It’s just that now that Dean had slipped back into Sam’s life, Sam had realized just how much he didn’t want Dean to slip back out.

He didn’t mention it, though. Sam watched his brother and his car rumble down the road as he turned up the walkway and entered his apartment. He figured it was for the best that he left whatever was between them alone as he lay back on his bed to wait for Jess to get out of the shower. Just pretend it never happened and fall into new, tentative routine of keeping in touch while Dean kept looking for John, because at least that would be easy, right? Simple.

Then Jess started to burn.

\---

One month had passed since Jessica had become one with the ashes of Sam’s home and he wasn’t any closer to being okay. He and Dean weren’t any closer to finding John either.

They hunted to keep busy, using John’s journal as a means to understand what they may be facing and pouring over musty volumes that left powdery residue on their fingertips when the worn book failed.

By the second month, Sam was sick of Dean. He wouldn’t stop staring at Sam like he was some damaged piece of china that needed to be kept in a locked glass case.

Sam was fine. So fucking what if he was acting like a loose cannon and jumped at the chance to go rushing into a hunt with guns blazing? So what if his only intake of nutrients was black coffee and the burn of salt that billowed from the depths of graves? And so what if he didn’t sleep at night because the moment he closed his eyes, the blackness of his eyelids reminded him of Jess’s gaping mouth fixed in a silent scream on the burning ceiling? Dean had been the reckless one for the first twenty six years, so wasn’t it Sam’s turn now anyway?

“Stop fucking looking at me like that.”

Sam was studying the expanse of crumpled roadmap that he held before him, but he could see Dean’s eyebrows arch upwards from the corner of his eye.

“Like what?” Dean replied evenly, turning to look straight out the windshield at the evening sunset ahead of them. The sharp red and pinks of the sky reflected off the gleaming black of the hood, swathing the dashboard in a muted stroke of blush. If Sam looked at his brother, he would probably be able to watch how the colors played off of Dean’s mouth, but he forced his eyes down to continue to track their journey north on the I-95.

“Like I’m about to shatter into a million pieces or something. I’m fine, dude.” Sam shuffled the map into a smaller rectangle so their route was more clearly isolated amongst the weaving multicolored scribbles of road.

Dean snorted, which made Sam’s head jerk to the side with his eyes narrowed.

“Something funny?” Sam couldn’t help it when his top lip curled up with his biting question, but he hadn’t killed anything in three days and he was getting antsy. His knuckles digging into Dean’s cheek would probably be a good stress reliever.

“Yeah. You. Your whole ‘throwing-yourself-into-the-heat-of-battle-with-nothing-but-your-quick-wits-and-a-gun’ routine is getting old, Sam.” Dean leaned further back into the leather seat, his eyes flickering once over the planes of Sam’s face before returning to the road. “And I know you haven’t been sleeping. You’re not fine.”

“Thanks, Dr. Phil. How much do I owe you for the therapy session?” Sam asked as he gripped the map tighter, his vision blurring from the seething anger building from his chest up to his throat and head like lava trapped beneath cracked black earth.

“Stop being a bitch and listen to me, Sam,” Dean snapped. Sam could hear the acceleration start to build in the engine as Dean unconsciously pushed his foot down, signalling his growing agitation. “This… thing that happened? Jess going exactly how Mom did? It’s not something you can ignore, man. I know it’s eating you up inside and you’re taking it out on the hunts we’re doing. Which is fine, 'cause at least you’re doing something to get it out of you, but you keep looking for new hunts the second we finish an old one. And I know what it looks like to avoid dealing with something ‘cause I’ve been doing it my whole life.” Dean seemed to realize he was pushing 100 miles an hour when he took the next curve a little too sharply because he eased off the gas. “I just don’t want you to, I dunno, freak the fuck out and go on a mass murdering spree or something because you aren’t dealing.” Dean looked over at Sam now, his eyes catching the spark of the sun. “I’m here for you. To talk. To-to whatever. For anything. Okay?”

Silently, Sam ground his teeth together as he watched the broken yellow line on black asphalt be swallowed by the wheels of the Impala. There was no mistaking the feeling that curled deep in the pit of his stomach as anything other than unbridled fury. He wanted to find the son of a bitch who had clawed its way into his life twice to dissolve two of the most important people he knew into flames and rip its head from its body. He wanted to remember what it was like to actually sleep and not wake up to the roar of an inferno and the smell of burning flesh and hair. He wanted to beat the shit out of some nameless face until his knuckles were every jagged shade of the rainbow to remind himself that he could feel something other than anger and desperation. He _didn’t_ want Dean to try to have some stupid heart-to-heart with him. Sam was dealing the way that Daddy Dearest taught him how: to kill things, up until they found a lead on John so they can all finally kill the fucker who destroyed their family and Sam’s future.

“Yeah, Dean. Whatever you say.”

The comment must have sounded as cold as Sam had intended it to, because Dean’s jaw clenched tight and the noise of the engine started to rise in pitch once more as Dean sped up. Sam couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad.

It took two more hours until they could find a decent motel within reach of Hartsville, South Carolina for the possible haunting of some diner. By then, the sky was a splash of blackened navy, stretching over Sam's head in an ominous yawn. The second Dean pulled into the parking space outside of their shared room, Sam was out of the car, duffle in hand. Pushing his way inside, he tossed his bag on the bed furthest from the door and proceeded to walk right back out into the night.

Nudging the squeaking door shut with his hip, Dean hiked his bag over his shoulder as he eyed Sam leaving the room.

"Going somewhere?”

“Saw a bar on the way in, thought I’d grab a beer or four. That okay with you or do you want to come and babysit me?” Sam turned to walk backwards, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets as he tilted his head at Dean in the way he just knew would set his brother off. He was begging for it with his body and his tone, just daring Dean to snap and throw a punch or cut into his skin with some kind of snarled words. He watched Dean’s nostrils flare in the dim light pouring from the open door of their room and thought he'd done it, finally hooked into Dean deep enough to get the reaction he was looking for.

“I’m not coming to get you if you pass out in some ditch,” Dean finally said, his voice scarily flat, before striding into the room and slamming the door definitively behind him.

His chest deflated, knowing he wouldn't get the fight he had tried so hard to seek out. Whatever. Rolling his eyes, Sam spun back around and started his walk to the bar, which was only a few miles down the gravel road. He knew it was a lie. Dean would come if Sam needed him.

It was three hours, nine beers and numerous shots later that Sam realized Dean hadn’t been kidding. Sam drunkenly punched his thumb into the ‘End Call’ button on his phone as he got Dean’s voicemail for the fourth time. What a fucking dick, not picking up his fucking phone. Sam had something important to tell him. He couldn’t remember exactly what it _was_ that he needed to tell him, but he had to say something. Sam landed heavily against one of the bar stools, the wooden legs protesting as they screeched across the floor with his weight.

“Alright, buddy, you’re cut off.” The irritated voice of the male bartender nudged its way into Sam’s ears. He sluggishly turned his head to glare half-heartedly at the guy responsible for ending his supply of liquor. What a prick. Everyone’s a prick.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Sam muttered, pushing himself up to stumble towards the exit. He shoved the door with both palms open and tripped into the night.

It was muggy, but still cool enough for Sam to keep his jacket on. Letting his head fall back as he walked out towards the road, Sam watched as the stars became blurry dots of white, spinning, spinning, spinning into a whirlwind of pure chaos. Sam felt gravel under his back and grass beneath his fingers. Rolling his head to the side, he found himself on the ground just beside the main road. Huh. How did that happen? With a groan, Sam shifted up onto his knees, and eventually, his feet. Scuffing his boots against the loose rocks, Sam took his time getting back to the motel. Mostly because the road kept moving under his feet. Fucking road.

Before he knew it, the neon sign of the motel flickered in front of Sam’s vision. With his stomach jumping high into his chest, Sam made his way down the walkway until he was in front of his motel room. His and Dean’s. Hmm. Dean. Dean Dean Dean. Sam let his body thunk against the door as he shoved his fingers into his jacket pockets. Where was his fucking key? Just then, the solid wood against Sam’s shoulder became a blank space of air and he found himself falling into a pool of light. Two familiar hands wrapped around the tops of his arms and heaved him back up to a standing position, steadying him when he wavered.

Blinking against the brightness of the overhead light, Sam struggled to focus on Dean’s face that was tipped up to look at him. Furrowing his brow, Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean just how much of a dick he was because, hello, Sam had tried to _call_ him and Dean hadn’t picked _up_ and that was just really fucking rude. But Sam’s stomach surged up again, not in a ‘watch-out-it’s-time-to-hurl’ kind of way, but in a good way. In a way Sam hadn’t felt for a while now. In a way that prompted Sam to press forward into Dean and duck his head just in time to catch the corner of Dean’s mouth between his lips.

“Jesus, Sam!” Dean twisted away, giving Sam a view of the broad expanse of his back as he took a few steps further into the middle of the room. Sam righted himself before he had a chance to fall face-first into the carpet.

“What?” Sam pouted, letting his eyes skim across Dean’s shoulders, Dean’s back, Dean’s ass, Dean’s legs. Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean.

“You can’t just-“ Dean turned to Sam and his face was a thunderstorm. Sam smiled. He could see the lightning crackle across Dean’s eyes and watch the thunder turn Dean’s mouth down into a frown. “Fuck. Close the door, man.”

Sam obliged, grasping the edge of the thick wood to push the door closed before stepping back towards his brother. Dean’s eyes flicked up to meet Sam’s as Sam invaded his personal space. Sam had always liked being taller than Dean. Once his growth spurt had kicked into gear, it always gave him a little thrill that he could look down at his older brother. Now was one of those times, his blood singing as Sam tilted his chin down to stare at Dean.

“Go to bed, Sam.”

“Are you gonna come with me?” Those words were supposed to be in Sam’s head. How did they end up dangling in front of Sam’s mouth?

Dean’s eyes shot open in surprise, eyebrows spasming as they struggled to knit together before his face smoothed out into a blank, neutral canvas. Sam frowned and lifted his hand to pet at Dean’s cheek to bring the pretty expression back. Dean smacked his fingers away and Sam made a small mewling noise.

“You’re drunk, Sam. Go to fucking bed.”

“Nooo, I’m _dealing_. You wanted me to deal, so I’m dealing.” Sam smiled again, taking another step forward. If Dean hadn’t backed up, their noses would have been brushing. “Wanna be my therapist, Dean?”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Sam.” There was a warning in the knife edge of Dean’s voice, but through the smokey, drunken screen of Sam’s stupor, he missed the sharpness of it. Capturing Dean’s belt loops with his fingers, Sam jerked his brother forward so he could breathe in the column of Dean’s throat.

“C’mon, Dean, help me feel better. Make me feel good again.” Sam rolled his hips in one languid movement as he imprinted each word into Dean’s heated skin. It felt so good to be this close to Dean again, to have their bodies aligned, to be inhaling Dean’s smell. Sam had never wanted his brother as badly as he did at this fucking moment.

Sam’s world spun and turned upside down as he found himself flat on his back on his bed, suddenly lacking any contact with Dean. Clumsily pushing himself up onto his elbows, Sam found Dean with his eyes and opened his mouth to ask what the fucking problem was. Dean cut him off before he could start.

“I’m not fucking touching you, Sam! And you’re not gonna fucking touch me. Got it? Not when you’re like this.” Dean was visibly trembling and he wiped his hands on his jeans before palming his face, his eyes hard and brittle. “You’re not gonna use me as some-some fucking _outlet_ for your man-pain. Deal with it without hurting me in the process, asshole.”

And with that, Dean turned, scooped up his jacket from where it hung off the chair next to the small table under the window and slammed the door behind him for the second time that night. Sam promptly rolled over and puked over the edge of his bed.

They didn’t talk about it in the morning.

The smell of vomit was what jarred Sam awake a few hours later. The lights were still on in the motel room and Dean’s bed was empty, the unruffled sheets indicating it hadn’t been slept in. Sam forced himself out of bed and cleaned up the mess he made before spending the next half hour with his head hanging in the toilet.

Sam was showering when Dean came back around 7:30. He was just towelling off when he heard the thump of two cups of coffee hit the tabletop through the cracked bathroom door. Staring guiltily down at his half-nakedness, Sam wished he had thought to bring clothes into the bathroom with him. Sucking in a deep breath, Sam creaked open the door and beelined it to his duffle bag, keeping his head low as he rummaged through the pile of half clean, half dirty shirts and pants. Yanking out briefs, blue jeans and a decent-smelling plaid shirt, Sam quickly changed before rubbing his hair dry with the towel.

The silence between them hung heavy on Sam's shoulders, anxiety crawling down the nape of his neck until he shook himself and took a slow breath in and out. Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Sam gathered the tattered remains of his dignity and finally dared to turn around and apologize to his brother. Dean was sitting at the table by the window facing the parking lot, legs sprawled out casually, but Sam could see the tension in his posture, the way his spine remained ram rod straight. He had Sam’s laptop open and was clicking vigorously at something with his brow furrowed, eyes dancing around the screen that left his face hued in an unnatural fluorescent white.

“Hey, uh-” Sam cleared his throat, his gaze flicking from Dean to the window to the small kitchenette to the door. Fuck. How do you even begin to apologize for coming onto your brother while intoxicated?

“Your laptop is a useless piece of shit. Do the thing where you connect to the Internet or whatever, would ya?” Dean interrupted as he shoved his chair backwards. Eyes caught wide, Sam nodded mutely and padded over to his computer and his brother. Leaning over Dean’s shoulder, Sam tried to slow his breathing and his heartrate at their proximity and with a few taps of his fingers, he easily connected to the motel’s wifi.

“Nerd,” Dean muttered under his breath as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Smiling, Sam reached over and grabbed his cup of coffee before retreating to the chair opposite of Dean, sinking down tentatively as he tested the waters.

“It really has nothing to do with being a nerd. Four year olds know how to connect to wifi.”

“Shut up.”

And that was that. Until the next time, anyway.

Sam avoided drinking for a few more weeks so that a similar incident wouldn’t occur, and he focused more on trying to “deal” or whatever. He didn’t really know what that consisted of. Breaking down and sobbing? He never felt like crying. Just punching things. A lot of things.

But this night was different. This particular night called for some ingestion of liquor. It was just after Dean’s life had been saved by the preacher using the power of a bound reaper. He was safe, but they had broken the spell before Layla had been able to be healed of her brain tumor. Dean was the one who pulled the car into the parking lot of the bar three counties away. He hadn’t been able to leave the small town fast enough.

Dean went straight for the whiskey. Do not pass ‘Go’, do not start off with a beer. Sam nursed his own ale for the first few rounds, watching Dean slowly become more and more somber until Sam decided to join Dean on the whiskey train. Together, they got loaded, barely exchanging words with each other except with their eyes. Dean’s were filled with resentment that Sam had made them come to Nebraska to try to save him at all, and Sam’s were filled with something he wasn’t aware of. He only knew that it was strong enough for Dean to look away as soon as their gazes met. Maybe that stomach-twisting thing Sam was feeling again had pushed its way into his irises without his knowledge.

They stayed until last call and mutually decided to leave the Impala in the parking lot overnight and walk to their motel, even though Dean voiced his displeasure with a grunt of irritation. As they passed under the streetlamps, Sam couldn’t help but watch the harsh yellow lights cut into the sharp planes of Dean’s face. Their shoulders kept brushing with each step and Sam was finding it harder and harder to keep track of his feet when his attention was slowly focusing in on his brother.

Twenty minutes later, they both stumbled into the motel room, Sam’s body knocking into Dean’s when he stepped forward from closing the door behind him. For whatever reason, Dean had decided to pause and stand in the middle of the space right in front of the doorway.

“Dean?“ Sam asked around his woolen tongue, blinking languidly down at the top of Dean’s head from where his brother was pressed against the front of his body. Dean didn’t move a muscle, just stood there, staring at the wall that their beds were pushed against.

Sam felt his eyes slip close as the warmth of Dean’s back and legs began to seep into his clothes and his skin. That itchy, kicking feeling that always scrabbled through his veins slowly started to fade, muffled by the blanket of Dean’s presence so close to him. He didn’t realize his body was moving until Dean was turning to face him, Sam’s palms on Dean’s shoulders being the reason he spun on the spot. Parting his curtain of eyelashes to half open, Sam zeroed in on the soft, wide pools of green that lifted to meet his own. That was all it took, the rubber band of Sam’s heart stretching that inch too far until it snapped back into place. He needed something and he needed it _now_. Sam’s hands were on Dean’s ribs, feeling the in, out, in, out, and his face was nudging into Dean’s neck, his lips finding the strongest vein of Dean’s pumping blood hidden beneath a thin layer of skin.

“Sam, no-“ Dean’s hands shoved into Sam’s chest and it felt like he was being prodded with a feather.

“Just-“ Sam panted, his mouth opening over the thrumming line of Dean’s pulse, washing the skin with humid puffs of air. “Please, Dean.” Sam’s fingers were now searching for anything and everything Dean; skin, shirt, hair, it didn’t matter, as long as it wasn’t curling and burning and becoming a permanent scorched outline on Sam’s ceiling, it didn’t matter. Sam pushed forward, grunting softly at the perfect alignment of his hips against his brother’s.

Dean’s hands came up again, this time fisting in the gnarled knots of Sam’s hair. Nodding his approval into Dean’s throat, Sam latched his mouth at the junction where Dean’s jaw met his ear and sucked, hard. A strangled noise vibrated out of Dean and into Sam, and it fed the roiling hunger deep in Sam’s gut, feeding the need to feel Dean real and alive and writhing underneath him or else Sam was going to lose his mind and drift away like ash in the wind, floating aimlessly into oblivion. He needed to be grounded by calloused fingers and rough palms and breath laced with whiskey and worn leather and _Dean_ , he just really fucking needed his brother.

Sam let himself sink into the muddled drunken mess of his mind and go on autopilot, surrendering to his body’s wants as he turned the two of them in a clumsy tango of tripping feet and muffled thumps until the back of Dean’s legs hit the edge of the nearest mattress.

Real, alive, here, not burning. The words all churned through Sam’s head as he blanketed Dean with the full line of his being, each nerve under his skin spitting a firework where they slipped against his brother. Sam’s body took over, operating without consulting his head, pushing over the line as his hands shoved Dean’s thighs apart so he could settle between them, his ears deaf to what could only be a noise of protest that left Dean’s mouth. Sam had just started to get a stuttering rhythm under way with his hands pawing beneath Dean’s shirt when he felt Dean’s palms clasp the sides of his face and lift.

“Sam. Sam, stop. What are you saying?”

Sam’s vision cleared enough for him to regain control and bring himself to a halt. He looked down to meet Dean’s eyes. There was an infinite depth of concern and fear that boiled inside them, strong enough to bring Sam back to reality and realize that he had been chanting two words over and over into Dean’s skin.

The last “Thank you” died on Sam’s lips, leaving his mouth parted in surprise.

“For what, Sammy?” Dean’s voice cracked in a way Sam had never heard before. There was something sensitive there, some wall that had been breached in this moment of vulnerability that hovered between them both. Dean’s thumbs brushed the soft skin under Sam’s eyes, smearing some kind of moisture that had apparently been tracking down Sam’s cheeks without his awareness. “Thank you for what?”

Just as Sam was about to tell Dean that he didn’t know what he was saying, didn’t know what he possibly could have been thinking, out of his mouth came, “Thank you for not leaving me.”

A cascade of emotions skittered across Dean’s features. The one Sam could recognize before it faded was pain. Silently, Dean hefted Sam further up his body into a full-on hug, turning them both onto their sides. Trembling, the dam inside of Sam’s chest finally broke, dissolving him into a heaving mass of sobs in his brother’s arms.

“I’ve got you, little brother. I’m not leaving. I’m not leaving you.”

For the first time in months, Sam fell asleep and didn’t wake up to the smell of burning flesh in his nose.

Something changed in the following weeks. For one thing, Sam began to get those dreams more regularly, jerking him out of what little sleep he did get and leaving him soaked in a cold sweat with an iron vice around his lungs every time. The other thing was Dean and his sudden decision to get a motel room with just one bed. One. Singular. Uno.

“Uh,” Sam said apprehensively when he first stepped into the room, his duffle hanging at his side. “I think they gave us the wrong room, dude.”

Dean brushed by Sam a little harder than he needed to, making Sam’s head quirk to the side. The tips of Dean’s ears were red.

“No, they didn’t.” Dean’s voice was gruff and embarassed.

Sam bit his bottom lip and looked again at the single king-sized bed with a plain dark blue comforter and two pillows fluffed at the head. He gestured forward lamely with his hand, as if it there was a possibility that Dean had missed it. “But… there’s one bed.”

Dean tossed his weapons bag against the dresser with the TV that faced said bed, knives and bullets and guns jostling noisily as they clattered to the floor in the rough canvas.

“What, you want a fuckin' medal for stating the obvious? Put your shit down, Sam, it’s our room!” Dean snapped as he knelt down and unzipped the bag to start sorting through it.

Sam clamped his mouth shut and set his bag at the end of the mattress tentatively. Dean was obviously more than a little on edge about the topic, so okay, consider the subject dropped. Sam couldn’t help but stand there and stare down at the amount of room that was spread before him. What he wouldn’t give to flop down and bury his face in the pillow and stretch out as far as his aching limbs could reach. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad, for whatever Dean’s reason was for diverting from their normal two queens.

A thought struck Sam, the blow of realization sending a tingle of fear down his spine. He spun around to face Dean, his heart skittering in his ribcage, making his words come out high and panicked.

“You aren’t-You aren’t leaving me, are you?”

Dean stopped pawing through the bag and straightened up from his crouch. A look of utter disbelief arched his eyebrows high and thinned his eyes out at the same time, as if he was having a hard time seeing Sam those sparse feet away.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Sam?”

“It’s just-“ Sam waved one arm aimlessly at the bed as he struggled to form the words that were pushing an invisible icicle into his chest. “The one bed. The one, single bed that could fit Bigfoot. _I’m_ Bigfoot. And my dreams-“

“You think…that because I got one bed, that it’s some kinda sign that I’m ditching you here? Over your psychic dreams?” Dean said slowly as if he was talking to someone incredibly stupid. Sam’s nostrils flared as he took a moment to feel slightly insulted.

“Look, I know it can’t be easy having to deal with a freak of a brother-“ Sam started.

Dean cut him off with a sharp slice of his hand through the air in front of him.

“Shut up, Sam, just… Just shut up, okay? I’m not leaving you. Jesus. I’m trying-“ Dean gripped his neck with one hand before scrubbing hard at the back of his head. “Shit. I can’t do this sober. I’ll be back in an hour.” Dean picked up the keys to the Impala and closed them in his fist as he crossed the room. Pausing at the door, Dean looked over his shoulder and met Sam’s stare evenly, his voice deadly serious. “I’m not leaving you, Sam. I’ll be back.”

Sam knew that he meant it. After the door shut behind his brother, Sam sat down heavily and rested his elbows on his knees, kneading his fingers into his temples. Okay. Okay, so Sam may have jumped to a couple of conclusions with no basis. But really, he wouldn’t blame Dean if he wanted to leave. Sam had been a more than a pain in the ass these past few months, what with him flying off the handle and all, and no one sane could possibly be A-OK with having a sibling with psychic abilities. Shaking himself, Sam stood back up. Whatever Dean had to say, he was going to say it when he comes back. He said so. Just gotta keep busy 'til then.

So Sam unpacked, cleaned his guns and knives, took a shower and a quick nap. He needed to experience stretching out to his full length without having to worry about half his body hanging off the edge of the mattress. Sam was finishing making the bed when the door opened again. Sam looked up just as Dean waved around a bottle of Jack Daniels. A good amount of the brown liquid was gone already, from what Sam could tell. Dean wasn’t drunk, but his tongue would probably be a little more loose than usual.

“You planning to share?” Sam asked, only half joking.

“I’m not your bar wench, Sammy. Get your own glass.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam went to the bathroom and yanked one of the generic plastic cups out of the cellophane wrapper before walking back over to where his brother had plopped down at the table. He was already pouring himself another drink in a much nicer glass than Sam had.

“It came with the bottle!” Dean crowed, swirling the liquor around the sides in soothing amber waves.

“Gimme that.” Sam snagged the Jack Daniels from his brother and tipped it into his own cup.

A silence began to stretch in the moments between the two of them taking their respective drinks. Sam’s leg was bouncing up and down, his anxiety building as he waited for Dean to admit the reason he got the one bed. They hadn’t shared a bed since they were kids, and even then, it was dangerous territory with them being growing teenage boys and Sam having his massive crush on his brother. But they were adults now. Full grown manly men. And Dean knew how Sam felt about him. It’s not like Sam had ever exactly been subtle.

“You trust me, right?”

Dean’s question broke through Sam’s swirling thoughts and made his spine straighten. Lifting his head, Sam looked at his brother. Dean was studying his glass, his fingers tapping some kind of rhythm on it as he slid it back and forth on the tabletop. His brow was creased and his lips were pursed, as if it hurt to think.

“Of course,” Sam replied immediately. “You know I do.”

Dean let out a long, slow breath and tapped the bottom edge of his glass against the table twice before tossing the remaining liquid inside down the back of his throat. Setting it down with a grimace, Dean passed a hand over his mouth and finally brought his eyes up to meet Sam’s.

“I just thought that, I don’t know. Maybe this would… help. You. Help you feel better to-“ Dean huffed and looked down, swearing heavily under his breath before bracing himself and plowing ahead. “To know that I’m there next to you. You slept better that-that one night that we, uh, accidentally fell asleep in the same bed and you haven’t been sleeping that well lately, so I thought…” Dean drummed his fingers against the table and shook his head. “But if you don’t want to, I get it, I’ll get us two beds-“

“No!” The word burst from Sam’s lips. He was surprised to find that he had leaned forward with the force of his protest. Shifting back into his seat, Sam swallowed thickly, unable to tear his gaze away from the look in Dean’s eyes. A tentative hope was brimming just beneath Dean’s pupils and it pulled sweet and hot at his heart. “No, it’s okay. I’m-I’m okay with it. Thanks. Thank you.”

Dean cleared his throat and nodded once. “Okay.”

The rest of the night was spent finishing the bottle of Jack. Not that Sam needed anything to help make it easier to climb under the sheets with the brother he had been in love with for as long as he could remember, but he knew that Dean probably required the liquid courage. As Sam watched Dean down his final glass of whiskey, he let his syrupy thoughts slide back to the alleyway two years ago. He remembered how Dean had dragged his mouth along Sam’s cheek and jaw because Dean knew that was what it would take to bring Sam back, even if he didn’t feel the same way. Part of Sam felt guilty. He’d always known that Dean would do anything for him. Hell, Dean had already done everything that Sam had ever asked of him. Except for this. Except for the one thing Sam had begged for when he was eighteen.

Sam smiled bitterly as he stared down at his socked feet. Even if Dean was doing this platonically, even if he was just doing it because he knew that Sam slept better when he could feel his brother an inch away, Sam would take it. Clasping his hands together in his lap, Sam nodded to himself. He wasn’t going to push anymore. Drunk or not, Sam was done forcing himself on his brother. God, it wasn’t even okay that he had done it in the first place, but… Dean getting the single bed? Dean handing Sam a silver platter with his trust glimmering on top of it? That was a big deal. That was a pretty fucking big deal for Dean. So Sam was done taking advantage of his brother’s willingness to give up his own comfort to make Sam happy.

“Hey. You. Quit thinking so hard. I can see smoke comin’ out of your ears.”

Sam blinked and lifted his eyes to Dean, who was just standing up out of his chair. Sam watched Dean stumble over to his clothes bag and yank his shirt over his head before dropping his eyes to the floor again.

It’s cool. They’re just going to sleep. Just go change, get in the bed and roll over. Everything will be fine. Sam took a deep breath and pushed to his feet, padding over to pull a clean sleeping shirt out of his own bag. Stepping out of his jeans, Sam kicked them to the wall on the right side of the bed which he was claiming as his, leaving him only in briefs. Sam quickly changed shirts and very deliberately did not look over to where Dean was changing as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. Once he was done, Sam stepped out and froze in his tracks. Dean was already under the covers, shimmying his body into a comfortable position.

“Get the light, would you?” Dean’s gruff voice jarred Sam into movement, his arm lifting to snap the lightswitch off. Darkness blanketed the room like the anxiety that was smothering Sam’s lungs. He waited for his eyes to adjust until he could see the outline of the bed and his brother from the dim light filtering in through the window on the opposite side of the room. Sam moved slowly, his chest rising and falling too rapidly to be considered calm as he crossed to his side of the bed.

“Stop starin’ and just get in, Sam. Jesus. ‘M not gonna bite you,” Dean snapped, though his voice was drowsy with sleep and alcohol and it came out much softer than he probably had intended.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sam mumbled, lifting the covers up so he could swing his legs inside. “You’re pushy when you’re drunk, you know that?”

Dean huffed something at Sam but it got muffled by the pillow surrounding his head. Sam took the opportunity to finish tucking his entire body along the edge of the mattress. The key here was to not push boundaries and to not make Dean uncomfortable, even though all Sam wanted was to curl his body along Dean’s back until they became a human question mark, two bodies fused into one form of punctuation that recurred through the continual mess that was the story of their lives. So Sam stayed in his space, lying on his back as he mentally drew a red line down the middle of the mattress for him to not cross.

It did help though. To have Dean _rightthere_ , to be able to feel Dean’s shoulder slightly brushing his own every time Dean inhaled and exhaled. To be grounded by the solitary fact that Dean was next to him and that he was alive. Really, that’s enough. Sam was going to make it be enough.

He was so wrapped up in his own head for the millionth time that night that he almost missed Dean shifting over onto his side, his back facing Sam. It was easier now for Sam to allow himself to stare at Dean's lax body, to slide his gaze down the dips and curves of his brother’s body under the thin sheets and the duvet cover tossed halfway down the bed that still managed to hug the line of Dean’s thighs. Sam closed his eyes and parted his lips to take in a long, slow breath, waiting for the oxygen to spill over his frayed nerves and settle them under his skin. They were just going to sleep.

At least that’s what Sam thought until Dean’s hand reached backwards blindly, waving around wildly for a moment before his fingers hooked around Sam’s right arm and tugged. Sam blinked at Dean’s back, which wasn’t moving except for the continual rise and fall of his breaths. Maybe he was dreaming or something. Sam started to pull his limb back towards his own body when Dean’s hand tightened on his forearm. Resisting. Sam’s mouth opened, a question bubbling in his throat for a moment before it curled up and became a lump instead. Something told Sam that uttering a single syllable would break whatever fragile spell was currently hovering over the two brothers under the cloak of darkness. Sam untensed his body, relaxing enough to let Dean pull his arm once again. Indicating for Sam to move over the red line he had drawn for himself. Gulping down another breath, Sam shoved a little closer into the middle of the bed, still on his back.

The air in the room seemed to disappear when Dean shifted up onto one elbow and twisted at the waist to stare down at Sam with an unreadable expression. Sam couldn’t swallow past the lump still blocking his throat as he looked back, his eyes wide and apprehensive because if Sam didn’t know any better, he would say that Dean almost looked irritated. The silence between them held even as Dean let go of his right arm and reached over Sam’s stomach to grab the wrist of his opposite hand. In one smooth motion, Dean turned back over, drawing his own arm down to his chest while keeping his hold on Sam. Sam could do nothing but follow where he was being pulled, which ended up being the entire back line of his brother’s body. Holding himself up on his forearm, trembling with the want, the _need_ to swallow up the remaining inches of air between him and his brother’s back, Sam hesitated. He could feel the tightness of Dean’s fingers around the delicate bones of his wrist and knew that he wasn’t planning to let go until Sam complied with his silent request.

Dean wanted Sam to spoon him, to wrap his body around his big brother and hold him in the most intimate way two people could touch barring sex. Sam wanted to, God, did he want to. And apparently, Dean wanted it too. So technically, Sam wasn’t breaking his rule of pushing Dean’s boundaries because Dean was making it extremely clear that this was okay. It was okay. Dean wanted it.

Sam hadn’t even realized how tense he had been holding his muscles until he let go and gave in, his muscles sighing in relief as he allowed his arm to slip just above the pillow Dean’s head was on and lowered himself down fully on his side. Even though his heart was pounding a vicious rhythm on his ribcage that Dean was going to be able to feel and would be a dead giveaway to how badly Sam still wanted his brother, Sam shifted forward and aligned his chest to Dean’s broad back. He bit back the sigh of completely and utter contentment that was building inside of him at the feeling of their bodies pressing together because he couldn’t ruin this, he couldn’t break this fragile moment, not when it had just begun. Sam tried to pull back the arm Dean was holding captive but when he did, a small noise of protest broke from Dean’s mouth. Sam’s breath hitched at the sound and he squeezed his eyes shut to stop the shudder that was fighting to wrack his body. Nudging his head forward into Dean’s shoulder, Sam let out a low shush, no words, just a breath of air that promised that Sam would return. Dean’s grip tightened a hair stronger for a moment, then loosened enough for Sam to move his arm away to grab the sheets that had bunched between their hips from Sam being dragged forward. He fluffed them up and drew them over their shoulders so the two of them were shrouded in a light layer of warmth that would stave off the cool of the night. Not that they needed it. Being wrapped up in each other’s bodies would do that for them.

Sam allowed himself to do this one thing, to give himself this one single pleasure, and slid his hand up Dean’s ribcage before pushing around Dean’s front, fingers splayed wide to eat up as much of Dean’s skin as they could reach. Sam closed his eyes and let his head fall down onto the pillow next to his brother’s, giving him a little more room to draw Dean back tight against his chest. Once they had finally settled, finally fit together like two teeth in a zipper, Sam both heard and felt Dean’s hum of content. It made the breath catch in Sam’s lungs and it made his heart physically ache in his chest, but at least he slipped into unconsciousness with a smile on his face. It was the best sleep he had had in months.

After that, Dean kept looking at Sam. Like, _looking_. Hard, and with an odd edge to his green eyes, one that Sam couldn’t place. Whenever Sam managed to catch Dean in the act, Dean would hold his gaze for a few seconds longer, but with his eyebrows raised as if Sam was the one who had a problem.

He learned to shrug it off, chalking it up to just some new weirdly cautious way for Dean to gauge whether Sam felt like flying off the handle again or something. Sam had calmed down ever since he broke into an embarrassing mess of tears in Dean’s arms those few months back. Whatever emotional release that was had helped ground him because he hadn’t been throwing himself into fights like a lunatic as of late, which Sam could tell Dean was grateful for. There was only so much recklessness that Dean could handle between the two of them.

Hibbing is their next stop after Sam found a story on page three of the Minnesota Daily about a man who had went missing and a young boy who had witnessed the crime unfold. After speaking with the boy and his mother, Sam and Dean pull into Kugel’s Keg, a local bar that had its fair share of tough motorcycle guys and overconfident barely legal kids working the pool tables.

Sam was still unsure as to whether or not this sounded like their type of gig, but hey, Dean was down to look around and ask more questions tomorrow, so he started packing it in. Dean protested, even called him a grandma to try to provoke Sam to stay for another round, but Sam was tired and really didn’t feel like staying any longer than he had to. Of course, Dean gave in, but not before grabbing his jacket and announcing that he’d be out after he took a leak. Grabbing his papers and Dad’s journal, Sam stepped outside and made his way across the gravel parking lot towards the Impala, passing by a few burly motorcycle guys who were making their way inside.

As he neared the car, a strange sound made Sam’s head turn, a low but distinct clinking of metal dragging along loose gravel. Setting the journal down on the trunk of the Impala cautiously, Sam pulled out his travel flashlight and passed it around in front of him before kneeling down and slowly lowering his head to look under the car parked next to him. A very orange and very angry cat hissed and swatted at his face, making him yelp before it disappeared off into the night. Laughing at himself, Sam stood up. He was glad Dean hadn’t been there to witness that or else Dean would be calling him a pussy for the rest of the year. And rightfully so. Pinching the bridge of his nose and grimacing at himself, Sam moved forward and went to stand at the front door of the Impala.

Then everything went black.

The next time he woke up, Sam was cold and his back was aching from being propped up against a sheet of rusted metal. Terror gripped his chest as he rose into a crouch and took in as much of his surroundings as he could. He was in a cage. He was in a cage made of thick twisting metal bars in a dark barn that stank of old sweat, rotting hay, manure and an underlying hint of mold. Shaking the metal once, Sam turned and found that he wasn’t alone. The guy in the cage next to him that was unconscious wasn’t Dean. Thank God. At least that meant that his brother was still out there somewhere. Safe.

Breaking out of his cage didn’t seem to be a plausible plan. Sam humored himself and gave it a try anyway, swinging his full weight into the walls of his confinement with his legs. Alvin Jenkins, the missing man and his new neighbor, also turned out to be incredible irritable and pessimistic, throwing out Sam’s comforting words and twisting them into worst case scenarios. The real shock of the day came when one of the figures who shuffled in to place a tray of food inside Jenkins’s cage reached forward to take out the key that had opened the lock. They were human. These things that had taken them were human.

Always one to be resourceful, Sam grabbed the ribbed metal tubing hanging from the top of his cage and pulled, every muscle in his arms and back screaming. Jenkins was annoying him, but at least it gave him a little more fuel to channel into bringing the tubing down from above his head. It was hearing Jenkins call him “Sammy” that did it, pushing the button inside of him to pour a final rush of adrenaline through Sam that allowed him to bring the tube down with a clatter, a metal bracket falling into the cage by his side. Not because he hated the nickname anymore, or because it reminded him of a chubby ten year old version of himself. But because it was Dean’s. No one called him Sammy except for Dean.

Of course, Jenkins had to be a fucking idiot too. Sam knew it was a trap, that there was no way Jenkins’s cage door had sprung open by some fluke. These fuckers were good old-fashioned crazy from what Sam had gathered, and that was reason enough not to trust anything being too easy. Cage door opening by itself? Prime example of too easy. But Jenkins left against Sam’s advice. Even called him “Sammy” again with his promise to go find help. Sam sat back on the mucky floor of his cage and watched the man disappear out the door. He knew he wasn’t going to see Jenkins again.

Dean’s rescue plans never really did go by the book. That much was evident by the police officer that had become his new cagemate, the same one who admitted to cuffing Dean to her car. Sam sighed, frustration tinging his exhale as he thought of his brother being so close but so far away. Dean would figure something out. He always did.

And then there he was, stepping into the barn and giving his surroundings the low down with wide, curious eyes before he spotted Sam. His heart lurching in his chest, Sam scoffed a smile as he heard Dean say his name.

Dean slammed his hand on Sam’s cage and grinned, all flashing white teeth as he said, “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

Sam was unable to do anything other than gaze up at his brother, his beautiful, beautiful fucking brother, and pull out a grin of his own. He didn’t even have the heart to throw a retort back at Dean for telling him he was rusty if he got jumped by regular people. That’s how happy Sam was to see Dean.

As Sam said before, Dean’s rescue plans never tended to work out how he thought they would. So of course, Dean ended up knocked out and tied to a chair surrounded by a family of psychotic hillbillies. Also, Dean is Dean, so he didn’t have the good will to think before he opened his stupid, fat mouth and blurted out a number of insulting remarks that pushed said psychotic hillbillies to the point of burning him with a white-hot poker to make him choose between letting them hunt either Sam and Deputy Hudak.

It was when one of the sons opened the door to Sam’s cage to shoot him like an animal that Sam got his chance to break free, efficiently taking him down and knocking him out without too much trouble. As Winchester luck would have it, the gun of the ugly son of a bitch was jammed, and thus, useless.

“Sam! The key!” The deputy hissed, pointing at the metal box.

“Right,” Sam panted, stepping over the hillbilly’s unconscious body to unlock Hudak’s cage door. Once it popped open, Sam helped her stand, several pops coming from her straightened spine. Sam looked back down at the dirty man by his feet, his mind churning. “Here,” Sam touched Hudak’s arm, gesturing down. “Help me get in him this.”

Together, the two of them dragged the limp body into Sam’s old cage and scrambled back out. Hudak held the door shut as Sam turned the key, the buzzer sounding as the bolt slid home. With a satisfied smile on his face, Sam pointed towards another doorway in the barn.

“We need to find somewhere to hide. They’re going to come back.”

Hudak nodded and led the way, followed closely by Sam as they crept forward, both on high alert.

“God, I wish I had my gun. Feel naked without it,” she muttered under her breath.

Sam thought about how his back felt bare and exposed, the weighted absence of his brother making shivers break across his skin.

“I know how you feel.”

They came into a room filled with various hanging chains and iron weapons and tools hanging from the walls. The wood smelled old and the pungent smell of countryside seemed content to bury itself in Sam’s nostrils.

Sam rested his hand on the ladder that led up to the hayloft and turned back to Hudak.

“Listen. If they come in, they’re coming in armed. One of us should be on ground level and the other up here. Best to have an advantage on two levels. I'll go up here, and you should find some place to hide where they won’t see you. I’ll be there if something happens.”

“Okay. Be careful.”

“You too.”

Sam climbed quickly, the old wood protesting under his weight. Hudak looked around and got Sam’s attention before gesturing to the other doorway that had a similar loft. Sam nodded and slipped behind a pile of haybales.

The father and the other brother came in not even five minutes later, calling for the first son. Sam watched cautiously above a pile of rotting straw as they entered his room. Blood pounded in Sam’s ears as he watched the father climbed up the same latter he did, but the knot in his chest loosened when the man swung around the other direction. The son was still on the ground, and with a silent curse, Sam watched as he headed in the direction Hudak had went. Breathing slow to calm his nerves, Sam was just trying to figure out how to get down from his spot without drawing the attention of the burly man only a dozen feet away when shots began to fire, loud pops jarring him reflexively. Sam tensed, gritting his teeth as he did he best to remain low so as to not get a bullet in the brain by the psychotic father on the opposite side of the loft.

A sharp cry and grunts rose from the other room and Sam dared to rise up to try to get a good look. A shot fired and hit the wall beside him, so he ran. Dodging and rolling, Sam hauled ass, getting himself down from the loft and into the other room. In a split second, he took in the other son pointing his rifle down at Hudak and yelled on impulse to get his attention, “HEY!” The man spun around and Sam dropped like a stone, falling flat onto his stomach. Apparently the Winchester luck was turning around, because the father entered the doorway just after Sam and his idiot son clipped him in the shoulder. Sam lunged to his feet, struggling for a moment before he took the son out with his own gun, sucking wind as he glared down at the fucker. God, he hated people. With the father incapacitated, Sam gave the deputy the gun to watch him as he dragged the son through the barn and into the second cage, bolting it shut with grim satisfaction.

One look at the deputy and he knew he shouldn’t leave them alone. He could see the glint in her eye, the desperation to know, the pain that was brimming there with the loss of her brother, and he knew that she was going to kill the man. He also knew that if it was him, and this deranged motherfucker had killed Dean, he would torture the entire family until they were begging for their lives and then torture them some more. So he ducked out of the barn to find his own brother, giving her the space to decide whether she wanted to take her revenge or leave it.

It was damp outside and the driveway was littered with potholes filled with grungy water. It must have rained while Sam had been in his cage, the mud sucking his boots further into the earth with each one of his steps towards the back of the decrepit farmhouse. Sam slipped inside quietly, and after looking at a wall that he quickly deemed the trophy wall, he didn’t allow his gaze to linger on anything else for much longer.

“Daddy’s gunna kill your bruther and that stewpid cop of yours,” a high-pitched voice wheedled from the room to his right, each of the vowels drawn out in a dirty, twangy way that made Sam’s skin crawl. He edged himself to the doorframe, waiting for just the right moment. “And then he’s gunna let me keep your eyes as presents! It’s my burthday next week, see?”

“Yeah? I’m gonna make sure you don’t live to see it, kiddo.” Dean’s voice was cold and lifeless, but held the promise of excruciating pain. It chilled Sam’s blood.

A cry of pain he knew to be Dean's cut into Sam’s ears right afterwards and he threw himself into the room, his eyes finding a little ragged girl digging a knife into a spot on Dean’s left shoulder that was surrounded by crisp, burnt shirt material. The girl spun around and shrieked, withdrawing her knife from Dean’s burn to launch herself at him instead. Sam sidestepped her feral lunge and took her feet out from under her, throwing himself on top of her to try to stop her spastic struggles. She kicked and thrashed, spit flying as she screamed and screamed until Sam finally punched her in the head hard enough to knock her out. Her body fell limp underneath him and Sam pushed himself to his feet, panting and with a throbbing set of knuckles that were definitely going to bruise. He was getting really tired of all of these fucking hillbillies.

“Sam. Sammy.”

Sam spun around and saw Dean leaning forward against his bindings, his body drooping with exhaustion and pain, but his face. His face was tilted up so he could see Sam and there were tears streaming down his cheeks, cutting tracks into the dirt and blood that had marred his skin, a nasty gash splitting open his forehead.

“Dean, oh God. Dean.” Sam rushed forward and fell to his knees in front of his brother, his hands shaking as they danced around the rope that bound Dean to the chair. “Fuck, these ropes are thick, just - hang on, Dean, hang on.”

Dean was murmuring something, but it was so faint, so fucking faint, and Sam just needed to get him out of that chair, so he scrambled on his hands and knees over to the rusted buck knife that had fallen beside the unconscious girl. He grabbed it and crawled back over to Dean, gently pressing him back so he was sitting up straight and wouldn’t fell forward after Sam cut the ropes.

Sam got to work immediately, sawing through the coarse, wiry cords that were holding his brother back from him. He needed to get him free, run his hands over Dean’s chest and neck and face and make sure he was okay, that he was breathing right, that he won't leave, God, Dean, please be okay, please don’t leave. Dean was still repeating something softly under his breath when the rope snapped open, falling away like ugly snakes. Sam dropped his knife, ready to catch Dean in case he collapsed, but instead he had the breath knocked out of him as Dean surged forward and knocked him flat on his back to the dusty floor.

Dean’s voice rose from a murmur to full volume and Sam’s entire body flooded with prickling heat as he realized that the word Dean had been repeating the whole time was his nickname.

“SammySammy _Sammy_ , fuck, are you okay?” Dean sat up abruptly and dragged Sam with him, who was still trying to get back the breath that Dean had stolen from him. Dean’s hands were all over Sam’s face, stuttering over his cheekbones and pushing at his jaw and over the bridge of his nose and dancing over his lips, and Sam was pretty sure that his face was going numb under Dean’s fingers. “Are you hurt? I heard shots fired and I fucking - I almost lost my fucking mind.” Dean’s nostrils were flared and his eyes were wide, his pupils swallowing up nearly the entirety of his irises.

A low pressure twisted in the bottom of Sam’s gut as he got a flash memory of a room filled with a green haze and how similar Dean’s eyes had looked then from where Sam had been sitting on his lap. His breath hitching, Sam forced himself to push Dean up and off of him until they were both on their knees facing each other instead.

“I’m okay, Dean. I’m not hurt, I’m not shot, I’m fine,” Sam reassured him before his eyes slipped to Dean’s shoulder. He winced. “It’s you we need to focus on, man. That looks pretty bad.”

“ _Sam_.”

There was so much meaning, so much feeling veiled within that one word, that one syllable of Sam’s name, that Sam couldn’t do anything but bring his eyes back to his brother’s just in time to watch him lean forward to kiss Sam square on the mouth.

Dizziness burst through Sam’s head like a tidal wave, rocking his entire body so hard that he thought he was going to faint. Dean’s lips were moving against his, pushing into Sam and nudging until Sam melted and became pliant because this was it. This was right. Sam couldn’t even begin to contemplate how long it had been since he had last kissed Dean because Dean was kissing him right the fuck now, so why wasn’t Sam responding yet, fucking idiot that he was? Sam’s hands clasped Dean’s face between his palms, his fingertips brushing the soft, short hair just above Dean’s ears as they both opened their mouths in a gasp at the same time. Sam took advantage of it and tilted his head in the other direction to dive into Dean’s mouth and ravage it with his tongue because, fuck it, if this was the last time anything was going to happen between them then Sam was leaving with the taste of Dean imprinted on the inside of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth.

Dean let him, just relaxed his jaw and met Sam’s tongue with his own, even dipped into the wet heat of Sam’s own mouth before he clasped a hand on Sam’s shoulder and pushed until they broke apart. An honest to God whimper escaped Sam’s throat at the loss, sending a fresh wave of heat to his already flushed cheeks. Sam’s eyes opened to see Dean’s were open as well and that his brother was panting just as heavily as he was.

“I thought they killed you,” Dean choked out. Sam watched his throat contract in tight clenches, the column of luminous skin rippling in the dim lighting. “I thought they fucking killed you, Sammy. I was ready to rip out their fucking bones because I thought that you were d-“

“I’m not, Dean,” Sam whispered, resting his palm against Dean’s cheek. His brother’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into Sam’s hand. For a moment, Dean looked like a child, soft and scared and completely trusting Sam’s skin against his own. Sam wanted to hug him but Dean’s shoulder was probably infected and super fucked up and Sam just really needed to get them the fuck out of this place. “I’m not dead. I’m here. And I’m gonna be here for a while, so you better get used to it. Okay? I’m here, Dean.”

Dean nodded into Sam’s palm, his eyes still closed. Even covered in dirt and mud and blood and sweat and tears, Dean still was the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen in his entire fucking life.

“Let’s get you out of here. C’mon, man.”

Sam helped Dean to his feet, making sure he was steady before turning to the unconscious girl. That closet across the room was looking pretty friendly. Dragging her by the arms, Sam hauled her into the closet and locked it shut, shoving the chair Dean had been tied to under the handle for good measure. When Sam turned around, Dean was right there, his eyes boring holes into the rotting wood.

Sam’s stomach dropped to his feet. “Dean, no. We’re not doing this. The police can handle her. We need to go.”

It was only after Sam yanked at his arm three times that Dean gave in and let Sam drag him away from ending another life. Enough souls had been taken before their time here on this farm. They didn’t need to add another to the list.

They made sure that the deputy was alright before she sent them hightailing it out of there with the threat of oncoming state police. Walking the muddy gravel road beside his brother, Sam had never felt more relieved and, strangely, happy. Not that he was stupid enough to get his hopes up. Sam knew how Dean felt about him, that he couldn’t give Sam what he wanted. He’d made it perfectly clear. Sam was content to be content. He was alive, Dean was alive, and that was all he needed for now.

Two weeks passed and Dean’s burn-turned-knife-wound had healed without any major infections or worries and still, Sam was okay with it, with the fact that that kiss was going to be their last.

It was Dean who seemed to not be okay. He was shifty and on edge and always playing with his hands and grunting one word answers at Sam and Sam had no fucking clue as to why.

Maybe it was the song that caused Dean to crack.

They were cutting a track through the middle of Nebraska on a Saturday afternoon following the trail of a kitsune. Sam was staring out the windshield at the other cars on the major highway they had been forced to take and Dean had thrown his Zeppelin tape into the music player for only the zillionth time in his life when the rapid guitar riff at the beginning of "Kashmir" started to filter through the speakers.

Dean’s head turned to look at his radio so quickly that it caught Sam’s eye and drew his attention there as well.

“Dean?” he asked tentatively, moving his confused gaze over to his brother, who had grown entirely rigid. Then something snapped in the air like a whip, shattering everything.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Dean said through gritted teeth, his grip tightening on the wheel as he started to accelerate even faster. The highway signs whipped by at alarming speed, the one notifying drivers of the upcoming exit becoming a mere blur as Dean changed lanes too quickly to be considered safe.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice shot up an octave as they swerved in front of a minivan to catch the exit ramp leading them off the highway and onto a smaller road. “What are you talking about? What are you doing?”

Dean said nothing else for the rest of the short drive, no matter how many times Sam prompted him. When the Impala peeled into the driveway of a motel, Sam was dumbfounded. What was hell was going on?

The radio was punched off with a force Sam had never seen his brother use on his car and yanked the keys out of the ignition with a harsh jerk of his arm.

“Dean!” Sam insisted, but his brother ignored him and stepped out from the driver’s side, marching into the reception doors. Sitting in the front seat, Sam stared at Dean talking to the manager behind the counter before pulling his wallet out from his back pocket. They weren’t even halfway through the state and Dean wanted to stop? They had hours of daylight left. What possible reason could Dean have to yank them into a motel in the middle of the day?

“Get out, Sam.”

Sam turned his head to his window where Dean was suddenly standing right before his door opened for him.

Sam unfolded himself cautiously, furrowing his brow as he opened his mouth to ask again what Dean was doing, but Dean fisting his hand in the front of Sam’s shirt shut him up pretty quickly. Dean didn’t so much walk Sam to their room as he dragged, but then the door was open and Sam was able to glimpse a king-sized bed before he was spun around bodily and slammed into a wall.

“Jesus!” lept from his mouth in surprise and it was about to be followed by an irritated speech until Dean yanked Sam’s head down and kissed the words away. His body responded immediately, Sam’s hands automatically rising to rest on Dean’s slender waist before he snapped back into himself and pulled away.

“Dean, stop. What are you doing?” Sam croaked, craning his head away when Dean surged forward again. “ _Stop_ _it_ , Jesus Christ, Dean. You can’t do this to me-“

“You don’t know what it’s doing to _me_ , Sam!” Dean exploded, his fist in Sam’s shirt shaking him a little with his outburst. Sam’s mouth hung open, completely unhinged from the rest of his jaw because… what? What?

“What are you talking about?” The strangled whisper crawled out of Sam’s throat. He could barely hear himself ask the question over the blood roaring in his ears.

“You think that because I pushed you away four years ago that it meant I didn’t want you,” Dean started, his face tilting up at Sam with his eyes open and earnest and swirling with so many emotions that it sucker-punched Sam in the gut, leaving him breathless. “But I tried to tell you, I tried to fucking _tell_ you but you didn’t listen. You fucking infuriate me sometimes, Sam, I swear to God. But just listen to me now, okay? I want you so badly that I fucking need you. You’d think that saying it out loud would make me want to vomit because I’m talking about fucking _incest_ here, but it doesn’t, it fucking doesn’t, it just feels right. You feel right. All those years ago, you felt right then, too.” Dean’s eyes were pleading now, pleading for Sam to understand. “But can’t you see why I did it? Why I couldn’t let this happen? Not just because of Dad, but because of you. I couldn’t mess you up anymore. I couldn’t be another thing to fuck you up because I knew how much you hated hunting and moving all the time and I couldn’t tack ‘screwing around with your brother’ on to that list too. You were going somewhere in life that I was never going to be able to follow and I wasn’t going to pull that away from you."

Dean was trembling, his throat working hard as he took a moment to swallow before lowering his voice, some semblance of forced calm edging his tone. "I’m not going to apologize for pushing you away, because you got to live a normal life, even if it was only for a little bit. I don’t want to take anything away from you now, either. If you want normal again, to find some girl and settle down with a fucking dog and Sunday brunches and what the fuck ever else, then tell me. Sam, if you don’t want this, tell me and I’ll stop.”

The two of them were panting, Dean from spilling more words in two minutes than he had in his entire life and Sam from trying to stay alive. His entire body was numb. Dean bit his bottom lip and took a deep breath through his nose before speaking again.

“But if you want this, if-if you still want _me_ , then you have to let me kiss you or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Sam really did think he was going to remain so shell shocked that he wouldn’t be able to respond for the next thirty years, but his body knew what to do, already reaching, so he just followed as he grabbed his brother’s face and slammed their lips together.

Everything was burning. Sam’s heart, Sam’s hands, Sam’s lips, it was all whipped up into a fiery whirlwind, and for once, Sam wasn’t scared of the flames. Because it was Dean, and everything was finally falling into place. Every bit of fear and hesitation and yearning that had been building a wall inside of Sam’s chest crumbled into dust and was sucked out of him by Dean’s mouth on his. He had never felt lighter.

Dean was shoving Sam’s shirt up under his armpits in his haste to pull it over Sam’s head, so he finally lifted his arms from around Dean’s waist and the material brushed over Sam’s face as it disappeared. Dean’s lips were back on his in a second, biting at Sam’s mouth as if to punish him for having parted from Dean for those few heartbeats. Sam welcomed it, vibrating with each nip of Dean’s teeth. His hands flew back to Dean’s hips and gripped, the sharp bones digging into his palms through rough denim. It was almost too easy to lift up and spin the two of them around, knocking Dean’s back into the wall this time before settling his big brother on his hips. Dean let out a huff of surprise and even pulled an indignant expression at being manhandled before Sam kissed it away.

Sam’s heart felt like it was going to spontaneously combust, the pressure of his happiness and the shock of Dean’s confession squeezing his chest like a vice. It was the best thing he had ever felt and he wanted to die from it, wanted to go with Dean’s hands on his face and neck, would welcome Hell with open arms as long as he was able to have this feeling before he went.

“So,” Dean managed to say through Sam ravaging his mouth. “I take this as a yes, you still want me?”

Sam pulled away to stare at his brother and finally let himself drink in Dean’s beauty unashamedly. The soft curve of Dean’s cheekbones, the strong line of his jaw, his arrow straight nose and perfect lips. All his.

“It’s a yes,” Sam assured him, his voice rasping out of his throat. “It’s a million fucking yeses.”

“Thank fucking God,” Dean growled, winding his fingers in Sam’s hair to pull his head to the side before sucking a bruise just under his jaw. Grunting, Sam secured one hand around Dean’s back and turned to bring them over to the bed. Dropping Dean down onto the mattress, watching him bounce up and down slightly as he propped himself up on both elbows with his legs splayed open was a scene that Sam would never be able to stop playing on loop. It was perfect. Even as they fumbled on, shucking off clothes and socks and boots and jackets with the grace of a lumberjack in ice skates, it was perfect. Even as they knocked teeth together and bit too hard into the sensitive skin of hipbones and almost fell off the side of the bed in their haste to get under the covers, it was perfect.

When Sam first felt the touch of Dean’s fingers where he’d craved them for what felt like an eternity, when Sam first felt the entirety of Dean finally filling in the hole he had left Sam with all those years ago, that was when he was sure. He had never been more in love with his brother than at this moment, panting and moving as one human being, just like they’d done for most of their lives.

Almost losing each other two weeks ago had been the safety clicking off and the song, that fucking song, of course it had to be Zeppelin, had been the trigger, but they were here. They were finally fucking here. And it had all been worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have followed along with this story to get to this point, I'd like to just take a moment to thank you.
> 
> I'd had this idea stewing in my head and when I finally put my fingers to the keyboard, it just flowed from there and took on a life of its own. I honestly had no idea how these last two chapters were going to go but I think they unfolded pretty well if I do say so myself.
> 
> So yes, if you have made it to the end of this fic then I want to thank you for a few reasons! Thank you for the kudos and the comments - every single one of them made me smile and inspired me to keep writing. Thank you for dealing with the typos from when I got too excited to post a new chapter and put it up without editing it first and finally, thank you for dealing with an extremely long last chapter! I hope it was worth the wait. 
> 
> I can't wait to continue to make stories for you all to enjoy. I loved writing this and I hope to make many more.
> 
> -IH


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